Gone
by Devil917
Summary: When Dean gets Sam to confess that he's being abused,the first thing that comes to his mind is to leave.But their troubles don't stop there;they're captured and soon stranded. They're only hope is Bobby,but will he be able to save them?Limp!Sam ,Hurt!Dean
1. Chapter 1

_**This is my first ever Supernatural fanfiction, so suggestions are always allowed. **_

**_Summary: When Dean finds out Sam's being abused by someone they're close to, he decided to take Sam and run. But things get worse when they become stuck in the middle of nowhere and Sam gets sick, really sick. _**

**_I DON'T OWN ANYTHING!_**

* * *

_He's coming after me… I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make him mad again. I can see the rage and hate in his eyes as he chases after me. _

_I run. _

_I kick my legs as hard and as fast as they would go but it seems like they go nowhere. He catches me anyway. I have nowhere to run, nowhere to go. I claw at the carpet, begging and pleading for him not to hit me anymore. _

"_Please," I plead. _

_I'm crying. _

_He raises his leg and it comes crashing down on my stomach. I try to soften the blow by any means but it isn't working. I feel every kick clearly and painfully. He's yelling something, but I can't hear him. Why can't I hear him?_

_He's punching me now. _

_I'm still crying. _

"_I'm sorry…I'm so sorry," I cry out but he doesn't care. He still kicks at me. _

_The house is dark. There's on light and it's coming through the thin white curtain and shining onto his face. In the moonlight, I can see the moon illuminating his angry facial features. _

_I'm scared. _

_He bends down now and grabs the ends of my shirt. He pulls it off and throws it across the floor. I use that split second to try to get away but I don't get very far. Maybe an inch or two. He grabs my feet and drags my already raw torso against the scruffy rug._

_It burns._

_He screams._

_I cry. _

_He lifts me now, smacking me once, telling me to shut up. I try, but it's hard. He throws me on the bed and I kick at him, hoping he would leave me alone. _

_He doesn't. _

_He takes off his belt now, and I know what's coming. I bite my lower lip. Telling myself over and over not to cry anymore. I tell myself to toughen up, I'm a man now. _

_His hand goes back._

_I squeeze my eyes shut._

_His hand comes forward._

_I brace myself._

_The belt makes contact with my already bruised skin. _

_I yell. _

_He swings harder._

_I yell louder._

_He stops. _

_I stop. _

_He grabs me by the hair, smacks the side of my face and tells me not to make another sound. _

_His hand goes back again._

_I bite my lip. _

_His hand comes down with all his might, the hardest it's ever been. _

_I squeeze my eyes shut, and don't make a sound…_

* * *

Sam's shaking. It's about 1:35 am. Dean lifts his head. On the other side of his one bedroom apartment he can see Sam's 16 year old profile tossing. His head goes back into the pillow. His head rests on the inside of his arm. He's sweating raindrops. Sam's right hand grips the bed sheets. His legs gently kick at whatever he's fighting in his nightmare.

Dean sighs. He knows what's happening. It's happened before. Sam's having a nightmare.

"Sam, stop," Dean says softly.

He doesn't.

In the silence Dean can hear Sam whimpering.

Dean doesn't want to get up. He's warm. But his brother needs him, and Sam always comes first to him.

Stepping out of his warm surroundings, Dean evacuates his bed and walks to the side of Sam's.

Gently, Dean holds the shoulders of his younger brother, trying to keep him still.

"Sam, it's alright. Wake up, Sammy," Dean calls, shaking him a little.

Sam's head tosses from one side to the other. His hair sticks to his forehead, and his face is wet from a mixture of sweat and tears.

_This one must be really bad_, Dean thinks to himself. By now Sam would have usually woken up by now, more embarrasses than anything, apologizing to Dean for waking him up.

Dean lets go of his shoulders and hold his head in his hands.

"Sam," he calls softly. He gently taps the side of his face. "Wake up, Sam."

He doesn't.

"Dean…Dean, make him stop…," Sam whispers, still dreaming.

At the age of 20, Dean had only dealt with this type of nightmare once before and that was a couple of weeks ago. Even though he was so tired that he would barely think straight, he knew what he had to do.

Letting go of his brother, Dean walked around to the other side of Sam's bed and climbed in.

Dean pulled Sam close, so close he felt as though he could feel the heat of the tears radiating off him. Dean wrapped on arm gently around his stomach. Dean slipped his hand between the sheet and Sam's gripping hand. As softly as he could Dean pulled Sam's hand away and held it in his until it relaxed. Once that happened, Dean ran his hand through Sam's hair a few times in a calming motion.

"It's alright, Sam. I'm here. Shhh…it's alright," Dean whispers soothingly into his baby brother's ear, calming him.

For a while Sam still fussed, but within five minutes he had calmed a lot.

"It's okay, Sammy. I got you, it's gonna be okay," Dean assures, stroking his hair.

Sam stopped now. He was dreaming normally, but still shaking slightly.

Dean pulled Sam closer and rested his head on his.

"It's alright, Sam. He's not gonna hurt you anymore. I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you…," Dean says softly.

And with that Sam relaxed completely, finally drifting back to a pleasant sleep with his older brother right there to protect him from whoever 'he' might be…

* * *

**_Please review and tell me what you think. Any perdictions? or suggestions? _**

**_Who do you think is hurting Sam?_**

**_A/N... Sam is 16, Dean is 20. Dean has moved out and Sam has been spending the night at Dean's new apartment. =]_**

**_PLEASE REVIEW!_**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter. Hopefully you'll review this chapter,too :)**

* * *

Dean woke up slowly. Sort of like how they do in the movies. His left eye opened first. The room was a blur, but it quickly came into focus. Then his right opened, but he couldn't see anything. Something was blocking it. It took Dean a minute to realize that he was still in Sam's bed, and it look him a little longer to realize why he got in his brother's bed in the first place.

Nightmare, Dean reminded himself. He unnoticably nodded to himself before beginning to unhook himself from Sam. He removed his arm from over Sam's torso, then he gently pulled his other arm from behind Sam's head. Then, as smoothly as he could Dean moved toward the edge of the bed and attempted to exit the bed unnoticed.

On his way out of Sam's bed his T-Shirt get hooked on the edge of the nightstand. Without noticing he was caught, Dean tried to wlak away normally. Without warning, the drawer had gone as far as it could go, and stopped Dean right in his tracks. The drawer pulled him back, causing him to fall backwards, clipping his head on the drawer as he did.

"Damn it! Fucking bitch!" Dean cursed as he removed the end of his shirt from the drawer and stood.

He looked over to find Sam wide-eyes, looking at him.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked.

"I fell getting out of bed," Dean explined, rubbing the side of his head.

Sam's face displayed confusion.

"You were in my bed?" he questioned.

Dean chuckled. "Easy, Princess," Dean raises his hands, showing he's innocent. "You're still a virgin, I swear."

Sam laughed.

"So what were you doing?"

"Nightmare," Dean answered.

"You had a nightmare?"

"No, Sherlock. You did. Don't you remember?"

In all honesty, Sam did remember. He remembered it was about his father. But he didn't want to worry Dean or make him mad. The only reason his dad hit him was because Sam made him mad. He would come him too late or ask too may questions. Sam couldn't do anything right.

Sam looked away, trying not to answe the question Dean had just asked.

"Sam," Dean called. "You wanna talk about it?"

Sam played with the sheets on his bed.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Sam shrugged. "I just can't. Trust me, you don't wanna know, Dean."

Dean walked over and took a seat on the edge of Sam's bed.

"If it's about you, Sam, I wanna know."

Sam shakes his head.

"You'll get mad..."

"Try me."

Sam sighs, felling trapped, confused, and angy with himself all at the same time.

Sam looks up at Dean, "Dean you have to know that it's all my fault," he says.

Dean looks at him with a skeptical look on his face.

"Is it your fault that the Impala smells like alien fart?"

Sam's mouth hangs open. "What? No. Dean, I'm serious."

Dean smiles, but it soon washes away when he sees the pain on Sam's face.

"Okay. What?"

"Promise you wan't get mad?" Sam asks.

Dean shrugs. "Well I won't know until you say it."

"I don't know how," Sam answers.

"Try, Sammy."

There was silence in the room as Sam tried to think of how to start his confession.

"It's about Dad."

Dean nods. "Okay. Good start."

Sam looks down. "He does things to me," he says softly.

Dean bites the inside of his lip as he felt the anger rise in his blood. Dean could feel his breathing quicken and his heart rate pick up speed.

"Sammy, what do you mean?" Dean asks gently, trying to stay calm. "What do you mean? Does he touch you? Like _touch _you?"

Sam looks up and tried to look at Dean but found it impossible.

"He hits me, too," Sam confesses, finally giving in to the tears he had been trying to fight. They streamed down his face, drawing a fine line down his soft face.

"Oh God...," Dean says, beginning to feel the blame.

How could he not have known this? How come he couldn't tell? What's wrong with him?

Dean wipes his eye, trying too to fight the tears.

"Can you stand up for me, Sammy?"

Sam looks at him.

"Why?"

"Just please, Sam. Please."

With that, Sam pushed the covers off his body and stood in front of his brother.

Dean lifted his shirt. There he was multiple bruises and cuts. They looked like they were from belts, some were from punches and kicks, others seemed oddly like they were from scratches. Dean covered his mouth, astonished at how bruised his baby brother looks.

"Sammy...," he whispers.

Gently his runs his fingers over the scars and cuts. He feels the bumpyness they have on them. Sam sucks in air quickly and moves back a little.

Dean looks up at Sam. His eyes are red and his face are wet.

"He did this to you?" Dean questioned gently.

Sam bit his lip and nodded.

"Yeah," Sam chocked out. He pulls his shirt down and he begins to cry harder.

"It hurts, Dean. It really hurts," Sam complains. There is so much pain his his voice, Dean could feel his heart drop.

Dean reaches for Sam and pulls him into his arms.

"I know it hurts, Sammy. I'm so sorry I let this happen. I'm so sorry." Dean apologizes, now crying too.

Sam didn't answer. Instead, he burys his head into Dean's shoulder, grips him tighter, and cries harder.

* * *

Dean nearly kicked the door down.

He barreled through the front door of his father's home.

He didn't bother to call out for his father. He was hoping he could catch him by surprise and beat him twice as hard as he beat Sam.

"Hey Dean, what's goin-" John didn't have time to finish his sentence.

You son of a bitch!" Dean called.

He grabbed his father by the throat and slamme him into the wall.

"You disgusting bastard!"

Dean kicked his father in the stomach, then punched him as hard as he could.

"Dean, what are you doing?" he called, protecting his face.

"You're sick, Dad. You're fucking sick!"

John broke from Dean's grip and scrambled away.

"What are you talking about?"

"I know, Dad. I know about you. Oh God, you fucking disgusting!"

John shook his head. "I don't understand..."

"Sammy told me, Dad. He told me what you do to him," Dean announced.

John took a step back, but didn't answer.

Dean could feel tears building in his eyes.

"How could you do that, Dad? How could you do that to Sam? He's your son! Your _son! _You're sick, you're sick..." Dean stammers.

So many emotions were running though Dean all at once he didn't even know what to say or how to act.

"Dean, I'm sorry." That's all John could say.

"You're sorry? Yeah, Dad. You're fucking sorry alright. You're a sorry bastard. But don't worry about being sorry to me or to Sammy because we're leaving. We're leaving you, you'll never see us again."

"Dean, don't."

"Fuck you, Dad."

"Dean?" Sam called. He walked behind Dean.

"Sammy...,"John began. He took a few steps toward Sam.

Instinctivly, Dean put Sam behind him, keeing him from their Dad.

"Don't you fucking touch him! Don't ever touch him again! Just-just, please...stay away." Dean says quietly before taking Sam by the shoulder and leading him toward the stairs.

"Go upstaris and get some clothes, Sam. We're leaving."

* * *

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**Please review !**


	3. Chapter 3

A few minutes later, Dean walked up the stairs. He pushed through Sam's already half-open door and entered the room. Sam had already packed his bag and had thrown it on the bed next to him. He placed himself on the edge of the bed, and he held a picture in his hand. Dean squinted his eyes, trying to make the picture come into focus. It didn't take long for him to realize that it was a pitcure of their mother. She was on the porch in her favorite yellow sun-dress. She was leaning against the white pole, holding baby Sam in her arms. He was wrapped in a bright blue blanket, sleeping soundully. Sam had always loved that picture. Their Dad used to say it was because of the bright colors in the picture, that babies always liked bright colors, but Dean knew the real reason. Sam had loved that picture because it was one of the very few pictures that they had with just Sam and their mother. All the othe pictures were of just Dean, or just Sam, or Dean and Sam. But this one was Sam and their mother, and even though Sam never had the privilage of saying he remembered her, but he always knew she was something special.

"Sammy?" Dean called. He reached over, grabbed his bag, and flung it over his shoulder. "It's time to go."

Sam nodded slowly.

"Yeah, uh..okay," Sam answers in a low voice.

Sam stood and followed Dean down the stairs. They didn't stop when they walked past their father.

"Dean! Dean come back!" John yelled. He watched his oldest son place his hand on the back of his youngest son and lead him forward. Sam was scared, it was written clearly on his face. His huge eyes looked back at John a few times, but instantly Dean made him turn back around.

"Don't look back, Sammy. Just keep walking," Dean instructed.

John had had enough. He needed Dean, but he needed Sam more. John could feel his emotions taking over his barely working body. The whole thing seemed to happen in third person. John felt like he was watching himself instead of actually living it. This all didn't seem real. It didn't seem real to any of the Winchesters.

John jumped a little and reached his arm out as far as it would go. His long arm went past Dean's guiding hand and onto the back of Sam's shirt. Sam hadn't expected to be pulled back like that and fell back into Dean, pulling forward at the same time. He tried to break free. Dean, thinking quickly, took hold of his father's hand. He twisted it as far as it would go, and pushed John back.

They were almost out the house. When John was pushed back he fell into the already closing door, cauing it to reopen.

"Don't touch him, Dad. I'm serious," Dean says strongly in a threatening tone. His cold eyes studied his father, trying to understand when something had went wrong. When something was so bad that it made his father want to take out all his anger on Sam.

John got up slowly. John watch Sam as he threw his bag into the backseat of the car and got into the passenger seat. Dean, noticing his father's glare, blocked John's view of Sam and cleared his throat.

"Don't bother looking for us. Don't bother calling anyone. I'm telling you now that we won't answer our phones. I just want to make it clear that you'll _never _see us again. And just know that all of this if you fault," Dean's voice was strong but soft. There was no need to yell, John already knew this was his fault. "Just think about that, Dad...and tonight when you do think about it, just remember why Sammy's not here anymore to be your human punching bag...or your fucking sex toy."

Dean shook his head in digust and John dropped his head a little.

John sighed. "Dean, I'm sorry," he says and looks away.

Dean's laughs a little. "Yeah, you keep saying that, Dad."

"That's because I don't know what else to say!"

Dean shook his head.

"Well that's fine Dad beacuse we don't wanna hear you anymore!"

Dean walks away, he heads to the car, walking fast.

He didn't look back when his father called his name.

He didn't look back when his father called Sam's name.

He didn't look back when John begged them to stay and promised he'd change.

But Dean did flinch when John shouted 'I love you.'

He didn't love them. How could he? No loving father would do that to their kids...

Dean quickly shook the words out of his head though.

He slammed his door shut, rolled up the windows, gave Sam an assuring look before starting the car, blasting the radio, and speeding off.

The only sound that could be heard over Dean's screeching tires is John's final calls to his sons as they barreled down the street, promising never to return.

* * *

The late day turned to early night and the Winchester brothers still drove on. The Impala was pusing 60 mph, and Dean doesn't show any signs of stoping until this thing runs out of gas. Sam readjusted his headphones before resting his head on the window and sighing.

Dean looked over at him. He noticed the restless look on his face and the way his was beginning to turn a light shade of pink.

"Sammy, you okay?" Dean asks.

There was silence. In that silence Dean could hear Sam's music player turned up loud.

Dean places his hand on his shoulder, getting his attention. Slowly, Sam takes the headphones out of his ears and sighs.

"You okay?" Dean repeats.

Sam looks away.

"Uh, yeah...just tired, I guess."

Dean raises a suspicious eyebrow.

"You sure? You're starting to look a little sick or something..."

"Dean, I'm fine," Sam says, the tone of his voice full of hope that Dean would just believe him.

Dean shrugs, knowing something was up, but choosing to figure it out after he find's somewhere to sleep.

"Well I have to stop to fill her up, then we'll go to a motel or something. You can get some rest there. Okay?"

Even though he was scared to death, Dean tried to put on his 'big-brother, everything's-gonna-be-okay' voice, but it wasn't working too well.

It was pretty obivous that nothing was okay right now. They weren't sure where they were going to sleep. They had no food with them right now. All they have is three bottles of water that Dean had in the back seat. They didn't really have any money. They didn't really have anything!

Dean pushed himself back in his driver's seat and started to wonder if he was doing the right thing for Sammy.

They passed a sign for a gas station about two miles from were they were.

"We're gonna go get gas, them I'm going to find somewhere for us to sleep. Okay, Sam?"Dean looks over at his brother.

Dean smiles a little when he realizes that Sam's already asleep.

"Just trust me, Sammy," Dean says aloud to deaf ears. "I'll take care of you. Everything's gonna be alright."

Dean placing a loving and on the side of his brother's face, sighs when he thinks about how John could do all those horribe things to someone as fragile as Sam. Dean lets his hand run down the side of Sam's face and lets it fall gently onto the stick shift.

"We're gonna be okay, Sammy. I promise."

* * *

**Reviews make my heart sing, so please review!**

**Next Chapter: I think so Sam/Dean heart to heart conversation? And maybe, just maybe some Sam angst? Maybe? Are you guys ready for that =]**

**Let me know what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

Dean looked over at his younger brother and sighed. The deeper they drove into the darkness, the more Dean began to feel guilty. How could he let this happen? How could he not see something was wrong with Sam? How could he not know what his Dad was doing to Sam? All of these questions ran through Dean's head as he pressed harder on the gas pedal and sped on.

Sam shifted uneasily in the seat next to him. He groaned softly and pressed his head harder onto the window. Sam's hands clenched and unclenched as he moved again. Finally catching Dean's attention, he looked over. In the low light, Dean could see a thin sheet of sweat beginning to form across Sam's face.

Dean slowed the car a little but didn't go off to the side of the road. His eyes went from the road to Sam quickly. He didn't want to stop the car, they were almost out of gas, but he needed to check on Sam. Giving in to his worry, he pulled the car over to the side of the road.

Sam's head rocked back and forth and he mumbled gently.

"Stop…please, stop," Sam begged, dreaming.

Dean reached out and shook Sam's shoulder.

"Sam, wake up," Dean calls.

Sam's breathing sped up and he swatted Dean's hand away.

"Stop! I'm sorry…I'm sorry," Sam mumbles, trying to move away from Dean's hand.

"Sam!" Dean calls a little louder, shaking him a little harder.

Sam jumps a little and he sits straight up, breathing heavily.

"It's okay, Sam. It was just a dream," Dean tells him.

Sitting back again, Sam sighs. He looks out the window, watching the hundreds of trees sway in the gentle wind. Sam puts his head back on the seat and lets out a deep breath.

Dean places his hand on his, getting his attention.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Sam shakes his head. "Not really…"

Dean rolls his eyes. "How am I gonna help you if you don't let me know what's goin' on in that head of yours?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know."

"Sammy," Dean begins, "How long?"

"How long what?"

Dean looks down at the steering wheel. "How long has Dad been hurting you?"

Sam looked away, he plays with the end of his shirt for a while before looking back over to his brother.

"Since about a month before you moved out."

Dean could feel his mouth drop.

"He was doing it while I was still living with you?" Dean asked, feeling astonished, guilty, angry, and stupid all at the same time.

Sam nodded.

"God, Sammy. I'm sorry…I'm so sorry. How could I not have know?" Dean says.

Sam sniffles. "He'd do it when you weren't home."

Dean rubs his eyes. "How come you didn't tell me? You know I would have helped you…"

"No you couldn't," Sam interrupts.

"Sam-"

"No, Dean. There's _nothing_ you could do. Nothing at all. Just because you made him stop doesn't mean that I won't keep thinking about it. I can't stop thinking about it. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. I see it happening all over again. I can't make it stop! God, what's wrong with me?!" Sam cried. He could feel hot tears go down his face and fall onto his shirt.

Dean put his hand under Sam's chin, making Sam look at him.

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with you. Do you understand?"

Sam shook his head.

"Then why does he do this to me? Why, I must've done something wrong."

"No Sam, none of this is your fault. It's Dad, okay. His brain's not right."

Sam wiped his tears away, turning back to his window.

There was silence in the car, but it was soon broken.

"About a month ago," Sam started, "It had to be about one in the morning. It was a Friday, I think. I was sleeping, and I heard something outside of my door. I hadn't opened my eyes, but I knew it was Dad. My door was locked, I was trying to keep him away from me, but it didn't work."

Sam looked over at Dean, his eyes were red as he cried.

"He kicked the door in. I heard the hinges break as it hit the ground," Sam says.

Dean swallowed hard. "What did he do, Sam?"

Sam bit his lip, finding it hard to continue.

"He tied me to my bed, but only my hands though. He said he like it when I kicked at him," Sam sniffed and wiped his eye.

"He was drunk. He was always drunk when he did this…"

Dean could feel the tears swelling up in his eyes.

"He would hit me first. He's tell me that all of this was my fault, that if I was more like you all of this would never happen. He told me that it was my fault that you were moving out, and it was my fault that Mom died."

Dean gripped the bottom of the steering wheel, biting his lip.

Sam wiped his eye and looked down at his hands. "Then he took my shirt off, and I was crying. He kept laughing at me though. He called me pathetic….then he'd hit me."

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat. "He's hit me so hard, Dean. It hurt so much…."

Dean placed a loving hand on Sam's shoulder, but he just shook it off.

"I would cry," Sam began again, his voice shaky. "and when I got too loud he'd put my shirt in my mouth to keep me quiet. The he'd…" Sam's voice trailed off, his mouth wouldn't let him talk anymore.

Dean's eyes went wide. "Then what Sammy? What did he do?"

Sam's took in a quivering breath. "Then, he'd lock my door, just in case you came home late. He'd walk back over to my bed…and get on top of me. He put his hands in my hair, then on my chest and my stomach- then… I'd try to get him off but I couldn't. He wouldn't listen to me. I begged him over and over to stop, but he just wouldn't," Sam was shaking now.

Dean was frozen, he didn't know what to do or what to say.

"Sammy," he breaths, he was crying too. "I-I'm sorry. I can't believe he did that to you…how could I be so stupid?"

Sam shook his head. "It's not your fault, and your not stupid."

Dean slams his hands on the wheel, frustrated.

"You know why I moved out?" Dean asked through clenched teeth.

Sam wiped his eyes and shook his head.

"Dad said you were ready to be on your own, that you wanted to live by yourself for a while."

Dean laughed softly, "Of course he did," he says.

"No Sam. I moved out because Dad told me to. He told me that he wanted to be with you. He told me that it needed to be just you and him, he said I was getting in the way," Dean explained. " I thought it sounded weird, but I never thought he was gonna hurt you. I _never_ would've left if I thought he was gonna do something to you."

Sam shook his head.

"It's okay."

Dean smacks the window. "No, it's not okay, Sam. What Dad does to you is not okay. Do you understand what he's doing is wrong?"

Sam looks away, "Yeah, Dean…and you're right, it's not okay. You're not okay, and I'm definitely not okay."

Dean nods, hearing his brother in pain.

"But we're gonna be okay, right?" Sam asks.

Dean grabs Sam's hand. "Look at me," he says. Sam turns and looks over. "Right now nothing is making sense, I know that. But you have to trust me, okay? I will do my best to keep you safe. No one's gonna hurt you anymore. I'm not gonna let _anyone _hurt you again. Okay?"

Sam nods. "Yeah," he says.

Sam shifts in his seat.

"Dean?" he calls.

Dean starts the cars and pulls back onto the road. "Yeah?"

Sam smiles. "Thank you."

Dean pats his shoulder. "No problem, Sammy. Now go to sleep, I'll wake you up when we get to the motel."

Without hesitation, Sam leans his head on the window, breathing out deeply.

The engine hums a sweet song and Sam tries to count the trees as they pass by.

"Dean," Sam calls. His voice is soft and slow as he's falling asleep.

Dean looks over. "What, Sam?" he questions softly.

Sam sighs a little.

"I love you," Sam answers back just as he falls asleep again.

Dean couldn't help but smile.

"I love you too, Sammy."

* * *

"Hey, wake up," Dean calls, knocking on the passenger seat window.

Sam stay there, not moving.

Dean opens the door and shakes his brother.

"C'mon Sam, we're at the hotel."

Sam's breathing was rough and rugged. His face and hands were clammy and small drops of sweat rolled down his face.

"Sam," Dean calls, unbuckling Sam's seat belt.

Unbalanced, Sam falls into Dean, still with his eyes closed.

Feeling alarmed, Dean shakes him a little harder.

"Sammy?!" he calls.

Sam groans almost silently, lifting his head a little.

"Wh't?" Sam asks, feeling light headed.

"Come one, dude. We're at the motel. Don't you wanna go lay down?"

"I feel hot," Sam mumbled back, not answering his questions.

Dean pulls Sam onto his feet, placing his hand around his waist, keeping him up. Dean put his palm onto Sam's forehead. He jerked his hand back quickly, surprised at the heat he felt radiating off his brother.

"Damn, no kidding. You're practically an oven, Sam."

Dean, no longer wanting to wait, lifts Sam into his arms, carrying him into the motel room.

Dean puts Sam onto the bed, takes off his sneakers, and pulls the covers up to his chest. Quickly, Dean wet the towel that he found in the bathroom, and placed it on Sam's head.

Dean sits down on the bed right next to Sam and smiles.

"You're gonna be taller than me soon," Dean says a loud before turning on the television, finally feeling safe again.

* * *

**Thank you so much for the reviews on the last chapter. Hopefully, I'll get more this chapter =)**

**Next Chapter... Dean takes care of his baby brother, awww 3 I don't really know for sure yet, but he may be feverish and** **delusional or something. **

**Anyway, thanks for reading and please review !**


	5. Chapter 5

"102.4," Dean announces with a sigh. He shakes his head. "That's not good," he mumbles as he dunks the town in cold water and wrings it out. Dean gently places the cold towel onto Sam's forehead .

"We gotta get your fever down, Sammy," Dean says softly, rubbing the side of Sam's face.

Sam didn't even recognize Dean's presents in the room as he talked to him. Sam, instead of answering, groaned softly before shirting uncomfortably in the hard motel bed, before falling back into a feverish unconsciousness. Dean played with Sam's hair for a little before residing back to his bed.

He flipped through the limited channels on the television before leaving it on a sports station and throwing the remote control across the bed. He watched it as it hit the side of the bed, clipped the side of his shoe, and landed in the empty garbage can on the floor.

Feeling bored, Dean examined the room. The room was a pretty normal size. The walls were a light gray. Two full size beds were aligned on the left wall with a nightstand in between. On the wall opposite the beds were shelves built onto the wall. On top of the shelves that lined the wall was the small 18" television. The door was on the right of the room and right next to it was a door that led to the poorly lit bathroom.

The walls were dirty. Dean rubs his hand over his blankets. They were pretty much unclean, too. Dean's facial expression turned to disgust as he surveyed the room again, this time more thoroughly. The longer he looked at it, the more dirty it seemed to become.

How could Dean possibly think this was going to work? He didn't have a lot of money on him. Maybe 220, tops. But that's only because he was supposed to pay a couple of his bills today .

Dean sighed.

What was he going to do? They're going to need food and water. Once Dean's money runs out, how are they supposed to get that? What about clothes, and doing laundry?

Dean's eyes roam the room again.

Is this the type of life he wants Sam to have?

"Of course not," Dean answers himself aloud. "Look at this place. It's a dump!"

He looks over at Sam as he buried his head further into the pillow as his fever climbs higher.

"And all of this dirt around is probably making him sicker," Dean assumes.

Standing up, Dean grabs his jacket from the desk chair, fold it up, and places it between Sam's head and the pillow. Suddenly Dean didn't wan Sam's face on the motel pillow.

Dean runs his hand over Sam's face, feeling the heat coming off him.

"Damn it, Sammy," Dean says. " I'm gonna have to take you to the hospital soon if you don't get better. But what are we supposed to do then? They'll call Dad or something."

Sam didn't answer, but he did take hold of Dean's hand. Sam's hand gripped Dean's like he was afraid Dean was going to leave him. Dean tried to pull his hand away but found that Sam had a good grip on it. Dean found it amazing that Sam had enough energy to keep him close, but he didn't have enough energy to answer Dean.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sam," Dean assures his brother, rubbing his thumb over his hand. Softly, Dean tugged Sam's hand off of his and placed it back across his chest.

"De'n?" Sam calls softly. His head turns a little, but he doesn't open his eyes.

Dean leans over his brother, brushing his hair off his forehead.

"Yeah, Sam. I'm here. It's alright. Go back to sleep," Dean orders gently.

Sam either doesn't hear him or refuses to go back to sleep because he continues to talk.

"Dean, I'm hot…why is it so hot? Dean? Dean…."

Taking the now warm towel off of Sam's head, Dean places it in the cool water, then back on Sam's head.

"Better?" Dean asks.

Sam doesn't answer, he just kicks at the blankets covering him.

Without hesitation, Dean brings the sheets back up.

"I know it's hot, but you have to sweat your fever out, okay? Just for a little longer, Sam. I promise I'll take the covers off when your fever starts to go down."

"Sh'rt," Sam mumbles back.

Dean's face shows confusion.

"Shit?" he questions.

"Sh'rt," Sam repeats, pulling lightly ay his shirt collar.

"Oh!" Dean says, finally realizing what he means. "You want your shirt off?"

Sam nods almost unnoticeably.

Dean pulls the two layers of sheets off his brother and lifts him a little.

"You gotta help a little, Sam," Dean says as he tries to keep Sam up, push the covers back, and take off his shirt at the same time.

Finally, after a few minutes of struggle, Dean pulls Sam's shirt over his head and throws it across the room. He flips Sam's pillow, hoping that the other side was cooler before he put Sam back down.

Just as Dean was pulling the sheets back up he couldn't help but notice the cuts going across Sam's stomach. He bit his lip, knowing all of them were from his father in a drunken rage. Most of them were red and look irritated. How could a father do that to his son?

Dean, unable to look at his brothers scars anymore, pulls the sheets up and walks back over to his bed.

* * *

Red lights.

Blue lights.

Bright white lights.

Red lights again.

Dean wakes.

They continue to shine through the closed curtain.

"What the hell?" Dean questions as he tries to wipe the sleep out of his eye and makes his way over to the window.

Outside he sees two cop cars and three cops. They're all around the Impala, checking the license plate Dean assumes.

They stand there for a while before two go scatter off, soon the other follows.

"Dad sent the cops for us?" Dean asks himself. He couldn't believe it.

Within seconds Dean finally comprehended what was happening. His father sent the cops for them, which means that they'll just take them back to him. And they weren't going back.

Dean closed the window and scattered for his clothes.

"Sammy!" he calls.

He jogs over to Sam's bed and pulls him into the sitting position.

"Sammy, wake up," he says, tapping the side of his face.

Sam pushes his.

"De'n, stop," Sam tries to protest. "'M tired."

Dean sighs.

"I know you're tired, but we have to go, okay?"

Sam nods, not really sure what he's agreeing to.

Dean smiles. "That's my boy," he says as he pulls Sam's shirt back on him and prepares for the greatest escape they ever made.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean wildly grabs his wallet and stuffs it in his pocket; he grabs Sam's jacket and heads back across the dark room to his brother. Sam was sitting on the bed, trying to keep himself awake even though he had no idea what was going on, all he knew was Dean told him to stay awake because they had to leave.

Dean came back over to Sam and pulled the jacket on him. Sam's head went back limply, but it rose again slowly.

"C'mon Sam, you can't go to sleep now," Dean says firmly.

The lights continued to flash, but they seem dimmer as the cars pulled away. Dean heard tires rolling over the rocky cement, but the cop cars didn't leave the parking lot. Moving quickly, Dean walked over to the window and peeked out. He seen the cops move back a little. They cut their lights off and got out the car. After taking for a short period of time, they went for the front entrance. All three of them entered the check in lobby. Dean saw this as his opportunity. He let go of the curtain and went for Sam.

"Time to go, Sam."

Dean hoisted Sam off the bed. He put his hand around Sam's waist and helped him stand. Dean walked briskly. Obviously too fast for Sam's feet because he kept slipping. Dean finally made it to the door and didn't wait. He yanked the door open and moved Sam along to the Impala. His head went back once, and when he did he saw the three cops talking to the man behind the desk.

Pulling open the door, Dean pushed Sam in. He rushed around to the driver's side and climbed in. Without hesitation, Dean started the engine. Zoomed back in reverse. Switched gears. Then went so fast out the parking lot, they were close to flying. Dean didn't even look back to see if the cops had noticed they had left or anything. All he knew was he couldn't let Sam be anywhere near their father again.

_We're like fugitives, living life on the run…_, Dean thinks as he drives . He was the only car on the road at 3 o'clock in the morning. Dean could feel his eyes getting heavier. Watching his lights as they made the what was in front of them visible only make him more sleepy. The sound of the engine humming, and the soft hissing of the tires running over the asphalt only resembled a lullaby, making him more tired.

An hour had passed . By now, Dean was literally slapping himself to say awake.

"Don't fall asleep…don't fall asleep…don't fall asleep," Dean mumbles to himself. But it didn't really help.

His hand slipped off the steering wheel and his foot pressed down harder on the gas pedal.

Quickly, Dean snapped out of it though. He grimly gripped the wheel again and rubbed his sleepy eyes.

Knowing the right thing to do, Dean pulled his car to the side of the road. Not only was he too tired to drive, but he needed to check on Sam.

His car went off the slightly bumpy road and onto the soft dirt. Dean turned off the car and unfastened his seatbelt. He reached out and touched Sam's shoulder.

"Sam," he called.

Sam stirred a little, but didn't answer.

"Sam, come on," Dean says, tugging on his a little harder. Dean didn't really have enough energy to do this, but he had to.

Turning his head, Sam looked over at him.

"Yeah?" he answered.

Dean sighed.

"You okay?" Dean questioned.

Sam shrugged. "Not really."

"What's wrong?"

Sam sighed.

"Everything," he answered in a soft voice.

Dean rubbed his eyes again as he looked around at the dark road.

"Are we going back to the motel?" asked Sam. His voice was soft and slow, he was about ten times more tired than Dean but he did everything he could to stay away, just because he knew Dean wanted him to.

"I don't know, Sammy. The cops are looking for us now."

Sam's hand ran down his cheat and fell into his lap.

"Cops?" he questioned, confused.

Dean chuckled a little.

"Yeah, you were pretty much out of it when they were here. But we had to leave the motel because they were coming. I saw the lights and when I looked outside they were looking at the car. Somehow I knew it was Dad that sent them. I mean, why else would they look at my car at three o'clock in the morning, right?"

Sam rested his head back on the window. The heat coming off him made the passenger window begin to fog up a little. Sam groaned, bringing his hand up to his head. His fever was getting higher.

"Sam? Sam, you alright?" Dean asked, reaching over for.

It took a while for him to answer. But eventually he said, "It's hot, Dean. Everything's all fuzzy…what's wrong with me?"

"You have a fever, Sam. You're sick."

Sam sighed. "I wanna go to sleep."

Dean nodded. "I know you do, Sammy. Can you at least wait till I find another motel?"

Sam nodded, trying to be strong for his brother.

Turning back on the car, Dean pulled onto the road and drove. He was still tired and his to fight to keep his eyes open. But he knew that he had to find somewhere for Sam to sleep, and that's what kept him alert.

"Dean?" Sam called out.

"Yeah, Sam?"

Sam coughed. "Bobby," he says.

Dean looked over. His eyes were getting heavier.

"What about him?"

Sam pushed himself up even though it hurt like hell.

"We should go to Bobby," Sam says softly. He couldn't stay awake much longer.

Dean shook his head. "No can do, Sam."

"Why?"

Dean sighed. "Just think about it Sam. If Dad already called the cops to go get us, don't you think he called Bobby and told his something like we just ran away?"

Sam licked his dry lips. "We did runaway."

"I know that Sam. But there's no way in hell Dad told Bobby the real reason why we left. Be probably blamed the whole thing on me anyway. Damn it! I hate him, Sam. I really-"

Sam jumped. "Dean look out!"

Dean didn't have a chance to react. A huge four door truck came from the opposite way, hitting them full on. The Impala shot back, spun and hit the side of a tree. Glass shattered everywhere was tires screeched. But there was no use, there was no way around it.

Both boys were unconscious as soon as the truck made full contact.

* * *

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	7. Chapter 7

His head rose slowly. Everything was slow. At first he seen all black but eventually everything came into focus. His eyes hurt, wait, scratch that- everything hurt. He seen the bright headlights of the car in front of him and it burned the back of his eyes. He tried to turn his head, but soon realized that was a poor choice . A wave of pain shot up his body. He winched, shook a little, but didn't stop.

Dean thought for a second.

What happened?

He looked down at his chest. He would've gasped at the blood he saw, but knew it would only cause more pain.

He took in a deep breath and was surprised when it didn't sting. It actually felt good. It calmed him.

_Easy Dean, easy. Now think….there was an accident. The truck hit the front of the Impala. The car spun, and hit the tree and jammed on Sam's side. _

As soon as the though read across his mind, he could feel his heart jump into his throat.

Sam!

Dean looked over as quick as he could without hurting his neck.

Sam lay limply in the passenger seat. His head still rested on the window, but his breath no longer fogged up the shattered, bloodstained glass. There was a gash on the left side of his head. Blood trickled down from the beginning of the cut to the center of his cheek. His mouth was open just a crack and blood ran from the corner of it. He look peaceful. Like he was sleeping, almost. But the unlikely and almost deadly stillness he had told Dean otherwise. Dean's eyes traveled down his brother's body and stopped when a crimson color caught his eye. Blood. Blood all over Sam's white shirt.

"Oh, God," Dean breathes.

His shaking hand reaches out and touches Sam's shoulder.

"Sammy."

Dean shook it. Pain shot up his shoulder.

Sam didn't move.

"Sam, wake up!"

Dan shook his harder this time, expecting him to look over.

"Sammy, please! Please wake up," Dean could feel hot tears running down his face. All he wanted was for Sam to look over at him. All he wanted to do was make sure he was okay.

"Sam," he cries.

Out of the blue there was a hard knock on Dean's window.

He expected the cops.

He expected an ambulance.

In a weird way, he expected Bobby.

What he got was a stranger. He was taller than Dean, with a thick beard. Through the rain that began to fall Dean could see that his clothes weren't clean. He was probably a hunter or something like that.

"You guys okay in there?!" he called. His voice was deep and rugged. The man tugged at Dean's door until in opened.

Cool wind and frozen rain drops flew through the now open door and onto Dean's skin.

"You okay, kid?" the man asked, reaching for Dean to get him out the car.

The man raised Dean's arm and began to put it around his neck to get him to safety.

"No!" Dean protested. "No, forget about me. Get my brother. Please get my brother first!"

The man stopped, and peeked around Dean to see Sam in the passenger seat.

"Please," Dean begged the rescuing stranger.

Through the hard hitting rain Dean heard another voice.

"They okay?" the voice called.

The hunter looking man trying to help Dean turned around. "This one seems to be alright. A couple of cuts, doesn't look serious. Don't know about the one in the other seat!" he calls back, jogging over to Sam's side of the car.

The other man looked like an older version of the first man.

They both went to Sam's side and tugged on his door. But his side was the side that slammed into the tree. It was jammed.

"It won't open!" the man yelled to Dean who gripped his burning chest.

The two men came back over to Dean's side.

"We have to take you out first to get to him," the older man said.

Dean knew there was no other way around it. This was the only way he could help Sam.

The two men grabbed under Dean's arms and hoisted him out of the driver's seat.

Dean's head went back as he yelled in pain, but the men didn't stop until he was completely out of the car.

Now fully out in the rain, he was suddenly cold. Being propped up by the younger guy, Dean watched the older man go back into the car to reach for Sam.

"Get him out. Don't hurt him. Please don't hurt him!" Dean called.

The younger guy tightened his grip on Dean.

"Just try to calm down," he tells Dean in a slow voice.

Dean could see the man tugging on Sam, trying to get him out the seat. Dean felt helpless, knowing he should be the one getting Sam. But he couldn't. There was nothing Dean could do but watch.

The man began to walk backwards with Sam in his arms. Sam's head fell into the man's chest and his arms dangles at his sides like a doll.

"Is he alright? Please, I need to know if he's okay," Dean says. He could feel the ground beginning to move and the Earth staring to spin. His legs gave out and Dean went tumbling down to the went pavement. Quickly, the younger man lifted him up and into his arms.

"Sam," he mumbled, suddenly too tired to talk. "Sammy, I'm sorry."

Dean's vision began to fade as he watched the older man put Sam into the back seat of his truck. That's when Dean noticed that's the same truck that had hit them. These were the people who caused all of this mess.

Dean's eyes began to close. His hand went out for Sam, but it was no where near far enough to taouch him. Hell, he couldn't even keep his eyes open.

The truck started and it drove in the opposite directing.

"Sammy," Dean says as loud as he could, but it was no where loud enough. A single tear mixed with rain and ran down his face just was Dean's eyes closed couldn't stop the gentle unconscioiusness from taking over.

That's when he head the engine and knew it was too late.

The man had took Sam, and there was no way Dean could stop him.

* * *

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	8. Chapter 8

Dim, low lights filled the room. Bart, the younger man who helped Dean out of the car, walked into the even darker kitchen. He took a seat at the dirty white table and sucked his teeth. He eyed his older brother, Russell. Russell filled the worn out glass with the filthy water that come from the low pressure sink.

"Momma will be proud, right Russ?" Bart says. His voice is eager, just like a kid asking to open birthday presents. Bart tapped his hand on the table in excitement . He couldn't help it, this was a great night.

Russell turns around and places the glass on the table. "She'll be proud of what we found, not what we did to the truck. I mean, look at it! It's wrecked. How we gon' fix that? We ain't got no more money!"

Feeling his happiness deflate, Bart sat back in his char until it heard it squeak. Russell was right. Russell was always right when it came to pleasing their mom. He was always the smart one in her eyes.

"So what we gon' tell'er?" Bart questions, fingering the whole at the end of his dirty plaid shirt.

"Stop that," Russell says sternly. Bart leaves the end of his shirt alone. "We're gonna tell her it was an accident. We gon' say we didn't see the car commin'. She can't get mad if we say we didn't mean it."

Bart shook his head.

"Not talkin' 'bout the car. I mean the boys."

Russell shrugged. "Momma's gonna be happy. Once we give her the kids, she can't be mad about the truck. Momma always wanted a kid. Now she got two."

Bart smiled big and clapped his hands together.

"We'll have little brothers!" he exclaimed.

"Only Momma get's to play with the kids. We have'ta help take care of them," Russell explained.

Russell sat down across from his brother.

"You did good tonight," Russell says softly, patting his younger brother's huge hand.

Bart smiles. "Did I, Russ?"

"Momma's gonna be happy with you, too, once I tell her you helped them out the car and brought 'em here."

There was noise in the back of the house.

Their mother.

"Momma! Momma come out here! We brought'cha something!" Bart called.

Within seconds, a very elderly woman came into the low lit kitchen. She had wild gray hair that few in all directions. Her eyes we as blue and as cold as ice as she stared down at her sons. She wore a dull white nightgown with pale pink flowers all over. Around her was an even paler pink robe that she used daily to cover herself. Her skin was an olive color with bruises on her arms and legs from past sun burns and childhood accidents. Her nails were long and discolored. Almost the color yellow and brown mixed together. She rested her shaky hand on her fragile hip and tapped her foot.

"What's all this racket about? It's nearly 6 six in the morning."

Bart went over to her. "Momma we got you a present. Actually, we got ya two!"

The old woman's face lit up. "Present?"

"Yeah! Wait here, they're outside in the car," informed Bart.

He and Russell went outside the house. Bart went toward the Impala. Russell went toward their truck. Both went inside and pulled out their 'present' for their mother. Bart held Dean who began to stir, but did wake just yet; and Russell held Sam who didn't show any signs of waking up any time soon.

They walked back inside with huge grins on their faces.

"Look Momma. Look what me and Russ got for you."

The woman gasped, covering her mouth.

"Oh, boys. Where on earth did you find them? How'd you know I wanted kids?" the woman exclaimed.

Russell lay Sam down on the couch, careful no to touch the gash on the side of his head. Bart placed Dean on the opposite couch.

"You're always saying how you want kids. Especially a boy. So we got you two," Russell says, hugging his mother.

"Seriously Russ. How'd you get'em?" the old lady finally asked.

Russell shrugged. "We hit their car this morning. We didn't do it on purpose Momma, I swear. But when we went to go see if they were alright we realized that they were exactly what you wanted. So I took the little one in the truck and Bart drove the other one here in their car. I was surprised it made it over here, though. We knocked it pretty good. But it wasn't smoking' or nothing so we figured we'd try to bring it here. It's in the yard if you wanna see it."

The woman, Fran, smiled. "I don't care about the car. I wanna go see my new boys."

Fran walked into the living room with Bart and Russell close behind.

Immediately she went to Dean first.

"He looks like he'll give us trouble," she says a loud.

Russell nodded.

"Yeah when we found him all he was worried about was his brother."

Fran tapped her chin. Her vision went over to Sam and she smiled brightly.

"Look at this one," she brushes the side of his face.

Russell and Bart exchange glances.

"Isn't he the cutest thing you ever seen?" she questions as he ruffles Sam's hair.

They don't answer.

Fran clears her throat.

"Well, I say you take the little one upstairs for me and keep the troublemaker down here. I think it's best of we keep them apart. Especially when he wakes up later," she instructs.

"Yes, Momma," Bart says. He walks over briskly and lifts Sam into his arms. His face scrunches momentary in discomfort but he soon finds peace.

Bart and his mother head upstairs with Sam in his arms.

Once they were out of sight Russell walks back into the kitchen to get the glass of water. He brings it back into the living room and sits on the coffee table in front of Dean.

"Hey kid," he says.

"Kid, wake up!" he calls, shaking Dean.

Realizing this wasn't going to work, Russell lifts the glass and watches the water as it smacks against Dean's face.

Dean stirred, and shoots up.

"Easy, easy now," Russell says, placing his huge hand on Dean's chest and making him lay back down.

Refusing, Dean pushes his hand away and sits up .

"Who the hell are you?"

Russell smiled.

"I could ask you the same thing," he replies.

"You could; but you won't."

Russell adjusts himself on the table.

"I'm Russ. And you?"

Feeling no need to lie just yet, Dean replies "I'm Dean."

Russell nods.

Dean studies the man for a second before realizing who he is.

"I know you. You're the bastards who hit us. You're the bastards who took Sam. You took him. Where is he?" Dean demands.

"Sam?"

"Don't play dumb, bitch. Where's my brother?"

Russell grins.

"You've been awake for two minutes and you're already mad?"

Dean shakes his head.

"I'm not mad. Trust me, you'll know when I'm mad."

Russell looks away.

Fran and Bart come downstairs.

"Oh, he's awake! Good job, Russ," Fran says.

Fran walks around to Dean and puts her hand out to touch the side of his face.

Dean swats her hand away.

"Don't fucking touch me," Dean warns.

Fran smiles.

"Isn't he adorable when he's upset?"

Dean's face scrunches in disgust.

"Lady, you're crazy."

Fran smiles.

"Honey, you look sick. Maybe you should lay back down."

"Lay down?" Dean questions. "I'm not gonna lay down. I'm gonna find my brother and get the hell out of here."

Fran looks back at her two sons and smiles.

"Leave? Honey you're not leaving," she says.

Dean looks around.

"What do you mean I'm not leaving?"

Fran's face went dark, evil almost. Her smile went away and her eyes went cold. "You're not going anywhere. We're gonna make you one of your own. You and your brother are _mine_."

* * *

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	9. Chapter 9

"You're so cute," Fran whispered to Sam. She stroked his hair like a pet and she smiled slightly. Bart had placed Sam in the guest bed on the far left of the house. The room was plain. White walls. Hard wood floor. One multicolored carpet in the center of the room. The bed Sam was placed in was on the left of the room and above that was a single small window. Fran had brought her chair from out of her room and put it next to Sam's bed so she can stay with him.

Sam hadn't made a sound since he was brought inside. On some level, that kind of worried Fran, but she soon realized she'd rather have him quiet. Her bony hand fell in his hair again and slid down the side of his face. Her finger slipped a little and brushed the open wound on the side of Sam's head. He moaned softly, and his face scrunched in pain. His head moved a little and she noticed Sam's hand clenching the bed sheet.

Fran quickly pulled her hand back and covered her mouth. "I'm sorry, honey. I forgot all about the boo-boo on your head," she stood up. "I'll fix it for you. Don't worry."

She bent down and kissed Sam's cheek. She brushed through his hair gently before stopping and staring at him lovingly. "You're so cute," she repeated before smiling greatly and exiting the room.

* * *

"You don't fucking scare me, freak!" Dean yelled, he tugged at the ropes Russell had managed to put around his wrists and ankles.

Russell walked out of the kitchen and back into the living room.

He shrugged. "We're not tryin' to scare ya. We wanna help you and your brother."

Dean laughed sarcastically. "Help? You think keeping us here is helping? You're making it worse, believe it or not."

"Not."

"It was a rhetorical statement, dumb ass," Dean snarled back.

Russell shot Dean a dirty look before retaking his seat on the coffee table in front of the couch Dean was placed on.

"We want you to be part of our family," Bart calls from the kitchen. In the low light, you can barely see him.

Dean looked away. "Gee, thanks, bitch," he replied softly. He scratched the side of his face as he surveyed Russell.

"What are you?" Dean asked.

Russell looked confused.

"What'ya mean? What am I?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, 'cause you can't possibly humans. No humans would keep to people they don't know in their house. No humans would say you want us to be part of your family," he looked from Russell to Bart, " Actual people would try to help us. Especially Sam! I mean look at him, he needs to go to the hospital. Not with your freakish mother doing God-knows-what to him."

Dean closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to block his thoughts of the possible things Fran could be doing to Sam.

In that split second, Dean's mood completely changed.

His eyes reopened and he looked more hurt and concerned than angry.

"Look," he started. "You have no idea what me and Sam have been though. And I'm not gonna waste my time or my breath trying to explain it," Dean's voice was soft now, there was no anger in it whatsoever. " But seriously, my brother need to get to a hospital. Can you take him?"

Russell shook his head. "Nope."

Dean could feel his eyes get big, shocked at his sudden answer.

"You can keep me here. I don't care. I'll do whatever you want. Just take him," Dean hesitated. "Please?" he choked out.

Russell dropped his hands on his knees. "No can do, kid."

"But why? What the hell is wrong with you people?"

"There's no hospital 'round here for at least another 200-250 miles."

"So what? Drive then."

Russell sighed. "Even if I wanted to help your brother, which I don't, by the way, I couldn't. Momma wants him. There's no arguing with her. You both stay here."

Dean could feel tears building up in the back of his eyes but he blinked them away quickly. He wasn't going to cry. Not in front of these freaks, at least. All of this was too stressful and frustrating! Dean wasn't sure how much more he or Sam could handle.

Russell smiled a little. He stood and tapped Dean on the shoulder.

"Welcome to the family."

* * *

Fran walked softly from Sam's guest room to her bedroom. The hallway was small and dull, just like the rest of the house. Pushing the door open, she entered her room and made her way over to the dresser by her twin sized bed. She rummaged through the top drawer until she found thread. It was blue but was so dusty and unclean it looked gray. Her hand felt the bottom of the unorganized drawer for a needle. She felt it prick her fragile finger. Fran picked it up gracefully and headed back to Sam.

When she opened the door she found him in the same position, even though she wasn't really expecting him to move.

She walked over to the side of his bed and looked down at him.

"I missed you," she says and rubs the side of his face.

Sam doesn't answer; Sam doesn't make a sound.

Fran gently turns Sam's head so that she can see and reach the gash on the side of his head easily. She picked up the needle and the roll of thread. Slowly, she unraveled about 11 inches of thread before ripping it from the roll. She put the roll of thread back on the small nightstand by the bed. Fran hooked the thread through the needle and let out a deep breath. Her hand came down and brushed his hair out of his face and from anywhere near the gash.

"This might hurt, baby. Be strong for Momma, okay?" Fran says to Sam.

For luck, she blew on the tip of the needle before beginning.

She brought the dull needle to the side of Sam's cut and braced herself. She counted to three mentally before pushing it though. She felt as though she could hear the skin breaking. As soon as the needle came in contact he cried out. His hand gripped her forearm, attempting to stop her but he was too weak. She continued slowly. Something inside her enjoyed watching Sam suffer.

She pulled the first part of the wound closed and fresh blood oozed out and dripped down the side of his face.

Sam's eyes squeezed shut. Through his tight eyelids, salty tears slid down and mixed with his blood. Instantly, Fran wiped them away.

"Don't cry, sweetie. Please don't cry."

She broke through the skin again and Sam's body jerked. He bit his bottom lip so hard it turned white, and soon he broke the skin and was bleeding. More tears slipped from under his eyes and he cried out again. He sounded like a kicked puppy. He was too weak to talk though, but in his mind he was begging, screaming for her to stop.

He felt her dry, old hand brush his face again.

"Almost done, almost done," she promised just before she closed the last part of the wound.

Sam's shoulders turned from her, but she quickly turned him back and held him there until he settled.

"Stay still, hun. It's almost over," Fran says as she pulls tighter and finally makes a knot and ties the ends of her poorly stitching job.

She placed the bloody needle on the nightstand and let out a deep breath.

Fran smiled triumphantly.

She took hold of Sam's hand and played with his fingers.

"You did awesome, honey. You were so strong for Mommy. Good job," she praised. Her eyes traveled up to Sam's face and she noticed his drop in color and the sheen on sweat that covered his face, neck, and chest.

"Oh my," she whispers. Fran lets go of his hand and stands.

"I'll get you some water, okay?" she tells him before exiting the room.

* * *

Fran walked into the living room to find Russell and Bart arguing with Dean.

"What seems to be the problem here?" she questions to Dean.

He rolls his eyes at her.

"You're all fucking crazy, that's the problem!"

Fran gasps.

"Language!"

Dean sighs. He was about to start again when he realized she was the one with Sam this whole time.

"How- how is he?" Dean asks, his mood changing again. "Is my brother okay?"

Fran shrugged. "Once I get done with him he'll be as good as new."

"You?" Dean questions. "Why don't you guys realize he needs to be taken to a hospital?!"

Fran shrugs again. "I was a nurse."

Dean's mouth drops. "Since when? World War I?"

Feeling offended, Fran puts her hand on her fragile hips.

"I'll have you know, young man, I am perfectly capable of taking care of my son," she shoots back.

If Dean had something to throw, he would've.

"He's not your son! What the hell, lady?"

Fran smiled. "Please, call me Momma."

"Hell no."

Again, she shrugs. "Fine, at least call me Fran."

He doesn't answer.

She sucks her fake teeth and taps her chin. She shakes her head.

"Too bad your behavior isn't good. I was gon' let ya see Sammy," Fran says.

Dean couldn't help it, the first thing out his mouth was " Don't call him that."

Fran smiled.

"Do you wanna see him or not?"

Dean nodded.

Fran waved her hand.

"Alright, come on. But you stay tied up."

Dean's face shows confusion.

"How am I supposed to walk? They tied my feet, too."

Fran pointed at Russell then down at Dean's feet.

"Loosen the grip a little, but don't take it all the way off Russ. He should be able to walk then," Fran instructed.

Russell loosened the rope from around Dean's ankles so he had room to walk, but couldn't get out of the ropes.

Soon, they headed upstairs and Dean made sure to play close attention to which room Sam was in .

Fran opened the door and let Dean in .

"You got three minutes. I'll be right here," Fran says from the doorframe.

There he saw Sam laying there. He had a distressed look on his face, and from the light sweat that was beginning to form Dean guessed his fever was back. Dean reached out and touched the side of Sam's face. Instantly, Dean felt the heat generating off Sam's weak body.

Startled a little, Sam moaned.

"Shhh, Sammy. It's me. It's Dean," Dean says softly.

He noticed Sam relax, but only slightly.

"Dean?" he questioned, almost silently.

Dean stroked the side of his face.

"Yeah I'm here, alright? I didn't leave you."

Sam's eyes didn't open.

"Wha' happened?"

Dean sighed. "We got in an accident. I'm sorry Sam."

He didn't answer.

Soon, Dean began to check him over as much as he could, looking for injuries.

"She didn't hurt you, did she?" Dean asked.

Sam's eyes moved under his eyelids.

"Ma' head," he replies .

Dean looked at the side of his face that was visible. Seeing nothing, he turned Sam's head and looked at the other side. There, he saw the once opened wound that was now poorly stitched. The thread she used was dirty and it was only irritating the gash. It was beginning to turn a purplish color.

Dean sighed.

"That bitch," he mumbles, evaluating the rest of his brother's body for noticeable injuries.

There was a hard bang on the door that made both Dean and Sam jump.

"C'mon, times up," Fran called.

Dean wasn't going to argue or fight her. Not now, anyway.

Dean ran his hand through Sam's hair a few times.

"I gotta go, Sam," Dean says softly.

Sam's hand reaches up and grips his wrist.

"I'll be right downstairs, I'm not leaving you. If something happens just yell or something, I'm pretty sure I can hear you, okay?"

Sam nods slightly.

Dean smiles. He couldn't help but feel proud of Sam even though he knew that Sam was only trying to be strong for him.

Dean's hand brushes Sam's hair off his face before rubbing the side of his face.

"Hang in there, little brother. I'll get us out of this somehow. I'm proud of you, Sam," Dean whispers before being pulled out of the room.

* * *

**Awww! :) **

**Don't you just love Dean?**

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**Please !**


	10. Chapter 10

"Pretty soon you'll see things my way," Fran said hopefully.

Dean shook his head.

"Listen, I'm not trying to pull anything, I swear. But it's storming outside and Sam hates storms. Honestly, if he's awake, he's probably freaking out right now," Dean tried to explain.

Fran smiled.

"That's so heroic of you. It's nice to see that big brothers still look out for their younger brothers," Fran says softly.

Dean shrugs.

"Whatever, can I at least go make sure he's alight?"

Fran shakes her head.

"I want to trust you, Dean-O, but I can't. Not yet, that is. You care too much."

"Care about what?"

"Sammy, of course."

Dean looks away.

"Okay, first, don't call me Dean-O. You do it again, and something on your body might get broken…"

Fran gasps.

Dean cocks and eyebrow. "You've been warned. Second, don't call him Sammy. You do it again and something beside your teeth might go missing."

Fran's eyes narrow on Dean, but he doesn't break the glare.

"Lastly, what the hell do you mean I care too much? How am I not supposed to care about my brother?"

Fran sucked her teeth.

"Soon I'll have you trained just like Bart and Russ. They used to give me trouble, too. But now they're under control."

"Yeah, they're practically potty trained robots or something," Dean says.

Fran brings her hands up to her face and smiles.

" I know, right?"

Dean looks away, disgusted by Fran.

Fran reaches over and lifts Dean's chin. He tries to pull his face away, but couldn't.

"Now listen, this is my house and my rules. What I say goes. Now stay here. Shut up. And let me handle Sam, okay?"

Dean jerks his head and her hand falls away.

"You hurt him in anyway and I will personally rip your heart out with pliers."

Fran laughs.

"You laugh, bitch. But I'm serious. Don't you fucking touch my brother or I'll kill you," Dean threatened.

Fran began to walk away, just before she headed up the stairs she turned back to Dean.

"Sam's my son now. And I'll do whatever I want to him," Fran states in and evil toned before walking slowly up the stairs.

Dean plopped back into the couch and sighed.

There wasn't much time. He had to plan their escape, and he hand to think of it now.

* * *

Overpowering lightning split the sky in two. Thunder boomed at it's most mighty. Rain fell from the sky and hit the ground like bullets. Each hitting the already wet dirt and shooting back up, just to fall again. The wind whipped around in circles, making the stray leafs chase each other deeper into the forest.

Inside, Sam clenched the sweat soaked bed sheet. His hands gripped at it every time the thunder pounded or the lightning struck through the window, brightening the room. Ever since Sam was little he never liked storms. He never understood why they scared him, but they always did. But when Sam was younger he had Dean to be with him though it. He was alone now.

"_Just relax, Sammy. You're alright."_

He could still hear Dean's voice in his ear. Maybe he was hallucinating because of how high his fever was, but he could almost feel Dean's strong hand running though his hair, calming him.

Forgetting about the wound on the side of his head, Sam turns a little. He hisses softly and jerks his head back to where it was before. Sam's eyes opened a little, but soon he found them closed again. He couldn't keep them open. He was too tired. He was too sick. He was too scared.

"_I'm right here. I'm not gonna leave you, Sam. Go to sleep, it's okay."_

Dean's voice told him, and he wanted to obey. But something inside of him couldn't let himself relax enough to sleep. He knows he's in a bed that's not his own. He knows that these people that he's here with probably want to hurt them. Hell, they already did. Even though he hasn't seen her face clearly just yet, Sam knows this woman is someone he should fear. There is obviously something attracting her to him, and he wishes there wasn't. Why couldn't people just leave him and Dean alone?

Sam tugged at his jacket, desperately trying to get it off but found it impossible. Sweat trickled down the side of his face and neck, stinging the gash on the side of his head. In time he learned to ignore that pain, just as he'd done many times before with his Dad. He ignored the pain. Pretended nothing was there. He could feel his shirt becoming more and more damp as the sweat continued to cover it more and more. It was bad enough that they kept his jacket on, but she also put a blanket on him, too. How was he supposed to sleep if he was this hot?

Thunder banged loudly and Sam whimpered softly, trying to stay quiet.

"_Shhh. It was just the thunder. You're safe, Sam. Nothing's gonna hurt you…"_

Over the years Dean's promised that plenty of times. And God knows how hard he's tried to keep him promise. Dean would do anything for him, and Sam knew that.

Sam felt hotter by the second and there was nothing he could do to make himself feel better. He felt as if he were trapped inside a bubble and in this bubble held nothing but burning hot air. This feeling felt like it was taking over his whole body. Sam's head pressed harder into the pillow and gripped the bed sheet tighter, trying to fight this new sensation that was surrounding his body.

This sensation was pain.

Pain that started in his feet. It struck both his legs hard, so hard they shook. The pain went up his leg and attacked his stomach. The most horrible pain you could think of was in his stomach. A crippling, nauseating, unbearable pain blasted in his stomach. His muscles crunched together and he curled up.

"Oww," he cried, his left hand gripping his midsection.

The pain worsened as it traveled higher.

In his chest, the pain pumped through the veins that surrounded his hear. It felt like his blood was fire. It burning was incredible. He couldn't breathe right, he couldn't move. He pain just took over his body.

Next, it went to his head. His brain pounded horribly. The sound of the thunder outside made it worse. It echoed in the back of his mind, getting louder and louder each second.

"Stop…please, stop," Sam begged the pain in his brain, his stomach, his arms, his legs, and his feet. But it didn't listen. Instead, it blasted his body one more time, but this was enough to make anyone beg for mercy.

His whole body jerked, stiffened, then went limp as the pain decreased but still lingered with determination in his body.

Sam's head rolled to the side as he began to cry. His tears came out like a river, drawing faint lines down his cheeks. The flowed down his face. He tried to blink them away but they only returned within that second.

The pain was too much to handle.

Right then, Sam didn't care how weak he sounded. At that moment, all he wanted in the world was his brother.

* * *

**Aww, Sam :(**

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	11. Chapter 11

Dean wasn't sure when or how he let himself fall asleep but he must've. The last he remembered was he was planning a way for him and Sam to escape safely, while trying not to worry himself to death about Sam. But Dean couldn't help it. It was in his blood, it was natural to him. He had to worry about Sam. Sam's his responsibility. Always has been; always will be.

He pushed himself up and looked down at his hands. He could already see his wrists becoming red from rubbing against the stale, old rope. It began to sting and he tried not to move his hands but found it hard to keep still. He had to stay alert, especially when he and Sam were stuck in this nut house.

There was movement upstairs. He'd heard it a few times, followed by the sound of water running though their rusty pipes. Dean cringed at the thought of how dirty their water must be, considering the appearance of the rest of the house.

Soft footsteps came down the stairs and Dean didn't even have to look. He knew it as Fran coming to fuck up his day, even before it began. Dean rolled his eyes, he had began to think of a plan and so far he planned to be as nice as possible. Hopefully that will help gain trust in him and soon he would be put on a shorter leach, so to speak.

"Good night?" Fran questioned.

Dean rolled his eyes again. "Splendid," he replied sarcastically.

Fran sat on the couch on the other side of the small living room. She brushed her old skirt and flattened her flower patterned shirt. She cleared her throat and fluffed a pillow behind her back before letting out a hard sigh and setting her eyes on Dean.

"I'd like to have a talk, Dean."

He didn't answer.

"How are we supposed to come to an understanding if you won't give me the proper respect and answer me?" she questions.

_Because you don't deserve my respect _, Dean thought, but didn't say it aloud . Instead he shrugged.

Fran giggled a little.

"How 'bout we try this," Fran began, trying to take a different route to get Dean to talk to her. "I'll talk and whenever I ask you a question you'll simply answer 'correct' or 'incorrect'. That way I can learn a little 'bout you and Sammy."

First thing Dean thought was to correct her about calling Sam 'Sammy', but he decided against it. Instead he nodded in agreement to her speaking arrangement.

Fran smiled. "Good," she says.

Fran cleared her throat again.

"You don't like me, do you?" she asked with a very faint smile.

Dean's eyes caught hers. "Correct."

"But you do understand that I want the best for you and Sam, don't you?"

Dean shook his head. "Incorrect."

"But Dean, you have to understand," she says in a desperate plea. "All I wanted was two boys. Then along came Russ and Bart. But soon they grew up and before I knew it they weren't my little boys anymore. And every since then I've longed for two new boys. Soon, my prayers were answered because Russ and Bart brought me you and Sam. You both were everything I asked for. You're just the right ages, the right heights, and on some level, the right personalities. Well- you're a little more feisty then I imagined….," her voice trailed off and her eyes shined.

"But Sam! Oh, he's perfect. He's just as I imagined! I mean everything…from his hair, to his beautiful face-" she stopped and sighed.

"He's just beautiful, isn't he?" she says just loud enough for Dean her hear her.

He shook his head, unable to control himself any longer.

"Lady, what the hell is wrong with you? You're fucking crazy! You're a lonely, regretful, ancient old bitch who is obviously a pedophile because you have the hots for my sixteen year old brother!" Dean screamed. His face went red and his eyes bulged a little. He just couldn't take it anymore.

Fran smiled, not seeming effected by Dean's outburst.

"Honey, it's been about a day. You must have to use the restroom. And maybe a shower, if you'd like?"

Dean was frozen.

She stood.

"Bart! Russ!" she called out and almost instantly they came trampling down the stairs.

"What's a'matter Momma?" Bart asked, entering the living room.

Fran smiled.

"Nothing's wrong, dear. But I'd like if you and Russ take Dean to the restroom and let him freshen up a little."

Russ smiled. "Sure thing, Momma."

Bart and Russ went over and grabbed Dean on both of his forearms. Dean didn't try to struggle because he knew there was no use. Dean knew they were going to escape, and they were going to escape tonight.

* * *

Fran opened the door to her upstairs bathroom. Hot steam followed her out. She tightened her grip around Sam's waist as he basically dragged him out the bathroom. She knew in the back of her mind that she should've called Bart or Russ to come help her with him, but she wanted some alone time with Sam. Something she'd been longing for since she set eyes on him.

Throughout the whole time she had Sam in the bathroom he was fading in and out of consciousness. He'd realize she was there and try to fight her off but he was too weak, he couldn't do much. Soon, his body would give out and go limp again. Fran always took that as her opportunity.

She scrubbed his body until it was squeaky clean and shampooed his hair. Before taking him out the bathroom she wrapped a white and blue towel around his waist and brought him outside.

Now in the guest room that Sam has been staying in, she sat him on the bed but wasn't surprised when his exhausted and too tired to fight body fell into the pillows behind him. Fran couldn't help but smile.

She leaned over and propped another pillow behind his head.

"There you go, baby," she said as she fingered though his newly washed hair.

The wetness from the bath and the sweat from his still climbing fever mixed together and ran down his face. Water drops that remained on his stomach spread out as his breathing quickened. Fran's eyes went big with awareness.

"Calm down, sweetie. I'm not gonna hurt you. Shhh…calm down," Fran called softly, but if didn't work.

Sam's head turned and he moaned a loud. His hand slapped hers away forcefully, but honestly he didn't do it on purpose. In his mind, it was his Dad's hand. He was grabbing at him, telling him to stay still and not to fight him. He felt the hard punch from his father and Sam coughed as if he was actually punched.

He could feel the loss of air and his head go light as he tried to calm himself .

Fran sat on the bed next to him. She gently rubbed her hand over his chest in a way that was meant to calm him, but seemed all too sensual to Sam.

His clammy hand brushed Fran's off.

"Stop, Dad- please," he begged turning his head away, soaking the pillow with the dampness from his hair and sweat.

Fran was taken aback a little. "Dad?" she questions.

Her hand goes thought his hair. "Honey, you're father's not here," she says. "But I'm here. It's okay, just calm down. Please calm down," Fran whispers, almost asking him. She was running out of resources, she didn't know what to do.

Sam didn't calm, if anything he was worse. Close to hysteria, even.

Fran panicked.

"What's happening to my son?" she questioned herself a loud.

_Think Fran, think_, she told herself and a single thought crossed her mind that made her want to kick herself.

_You have to get Dean. It's your only choice…_

Fran growled and made her way down the hall and stood at the top of the stairs.

"Russ?"

"Yeah, Momma?"

"Dean out the bathroom?" she asked.

"Uh, yup."

"He untied?"

"Uh, yup."

"Bring him up here quick, Russ. I need his help with Sam. Hurry, now!"

Dean didn't hesitate. He shot up the stairs, barreled past Fran and into where Sam was.

Dean crawled into the bed, sat next to Sam and brought him into his arms. Just like Fran had did, Dean brushed Sam's hair back. But with Dean it was more caring, loving, and soothing.

"C'mon Sammy, snap out of it," Dean says softly. He rubs the side of Sam's face. "Dad's not here, he's not gonna hurt you."

Sam's head buried deeper into Dean's shoulder.

At that moment, Russell had walked away. From the corner of his eye Dean spotted him walk into the door down the hall, farthest from the room they were in now.

"It's alright, Sam. Everything's alright. I'm right here. I'm not leaving, Sammy. I promise," Dean soothes.

Sam breathed in then out deeply.

His soft hand reached up and touched the side of Dean's face and stared at him with an empty stare, like he didn't believe he was here.

"Dean," he says softly, confirming his assumption.

Dean pulled his hand away and put it back down.

"Yeah Sammy, it's me. I'm here okay. Just relax. Go back to sleep, alright? You're body needs to rest.," he says. Dean breathes out hard and looks away.

"Sam you're gonna give me a hear attack if you keep having there nightmares," Dean says a loud but too soft for anyone to hear. Dean covers his eyes momentarily. "It makes me wonder just how much Dad had messed your head up."

Soon, Sam had settled and his slow, calm breathing was all that could be heard.

Fran held her heart through her shirt and she smiled.

"Thank you, thank you," she says, going to Sam.

Dean smacks her hand away.

"Don't touch him," Dean snarled.

Fran backed away.

"What?" she questioned, her eyes going evil again.

Dean didn't even think twice. He punched Fran twice in her face. He hit her so hard she fell into the chair behind her, falling head first.

Without waiting, Dean scooped Sam up and ran as fast as he could down the hall. He sped down the stairs, being careful not to hit Sam's head on something.

In the background Dean heard screaming, yelling, and commotion, but he didn't stop.

"Dean?" Sam calls softly, tugging on his arm.

Dean ran across the room, and headed for the front door. He pulled it open and went outside.

"Not now, Sam. We gotta go again. Be quiet," Dean commands in a soft voice.

Dean heard footsteps from behind him, coming down the stairs.

"Come back here!" Fran's evil voice yelled. She sounded like a tortured cat mixed with nails on a chalkboard..

"Get them! Get Sam!" she demanded.

Dean went to the Impala first, he knew that he kept an extra key in the glove compartment if there wasn't already one in the ignition. He pushed Sam through the broken back window and lay him a gently as he could considering the rush he was in.

The door opened and he seen Russell and Bart walk onto the porch with shotguns.

_Bang !_

_Bang !_

Dean ducked, as he slid behind the wheel, grabbed the keys, and sped back.

_Bang ! _

_Bang !_

Dean felt a bullet wiz past his face. He turned away, breathing in quickly.

"Damn," he says and he presses hard on the gas pedal.

He speeded off from the house, not bothering to look back.

Bullets his the back windshield.

Bullets the license plate.

Bullets slammed into the trunk and some bounced off the top of the Impala.

But Dean didn't care.

He and Sam had gotten away, and that's all that matters.

* * *

**It took me forever to write this chapter. I hope you like it. **

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	12. Chapter 12

Tires screamed as they were pushed further on the pavement.

Gunshots skipped on the top and the side of the Impala.

Dean kept his eyes forward, letting nothing distract him from his current goal: Getting Sam to safety.

He swerved around the bend. The tires slipped and the side of the Impala scraped the guard rail. Burning red sparks flew up and over the car. Dean's hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as he guided the car further away from the side of the road. The road was clear from there, and at that moment Dean realized they had escaped. They had gotten away. Of course Sam was still sick, he was still hurt, and as of right now he was still unconscious. That was the bad part of this situation.

_There ain't no hospital 'round here for at least 200 to 250 miles, _Dean recalled them saying.

"Damn it," he says aloud. He wasn't sure how much more of this Sam could take, but what choice did he have? He has to at least try to get Sam to the hospital. There was no way in hell Dean was just going to sit here and wait for someone to happen to find them.

Above, Dean seen storm clouds heading their way again. Another storm was coming.

_Well how friggin' awesome is this?_ Dean thought, rolling his eyes. _That's not what Sam needs right now. What the hell? At least wait till we're at the hospital to start storming…_

At that moment, Dean heard a huge boom and he knew it was thunder rolling their way. By the second, the street got darker. Not too dark that he couldn't see the road head of him, but too dark for 1:39 pm. Wind picked up speed and smacked the side of Dean's car and the side of his face. The broken window allowed all of the outside elements to travel inside. Dean grunted in frustration.

_Well fuck you, too, Mother Nature._

Dean's clicked the button for his headlights to come on, but only one did. But even that one worked poorly. The accident had really did a number on the front of the car, luckily it was not too damaged and it still ran.

In the rearview mirror Dean looked back at Sam.

He lay in the back seat. His left hand was pressed over his head and placed loosely on the door just under the window. Sam lay with his body angled at Dean. His face showed peace as he let the fever and the weakness from the growing infection on his head take over his body. That's exactly what he needed, though. He just needed to rest.

At that moment, the rain came. It was light and didn't effect things much but soon it will make the roads slippery and the air thick and hard to see through.

Dean continued down the road and his mind went to a place he never wanted to go. He started questioning himself.

_What if I did something wrong? What if I did something to hurt Sam, too. Maybe I moved him too quick; Maybe I moved him too much…_

_And that Fran bitch. What the hell did she do to him? She said she just wanted him as a son, but so did Dad, and we all know what that turned out. What if she did to Sam what Dad did? _

Dean's hand ran through his hair.

_Oh God, she better not have. If I find out she or one of her fucking sons touched Sam, I'll kill them. _

Dean's foot pressed harder on the gas pedal.

_God, I hate people! What can't they all just leave us alone? What type of sick, fucked up world do we live in when kids aren't even safe with their parents anymore. What type of sick, fucked up world do we live in when fathers can't keep their filthy hands off their sons? It's disgusting! I don't understand…_

Dean looked up again and into the rearview mirror. For a second or two he watched Sam sleep.

_I could never do that to him. I would never hit him like that. And there's no ay in hell I'm touching him the way Dad did. I could never hurt Sam. I would never hurt Sam._

Dean shook his head.

_Never…_

Dean sighed, at that moment he felt lost.

The rain began to let up and he seen that as his moment to change his clothes and actually put clothes on Sam.

Dean pulled over to the side of the road and got out. He went to the truck. It was stuck momentarily, but Dean got it open eventually. He went through Sam's bag first . He found him boxers, jeans, and an undershirt. He figured it didn't make sense to give him a real shirt when the people at the hospital are just going to take it off anyway.

Dean walked over to the backseat of the car.

He opens the car of the side where Sam's legs are. Dean pulls the white and blue towel from around Sam's waist. Quickly, Dean pulls on Sam's boxers. He throws the towel in the trunk, hopefully it will help the police find them. Next, he lifts Sam's lower half and gets his jeans on. With that, he heads to the other side of the car where Sam's head is. Dean lifts his head and sits in the back with Sam. He unravels the tank top and pulls it over Sam's head.

Feeling the shirt sting the gash on the side of his head, Sam moans, trying to move his head away.

"Shh, Sam. It's just me, okay? It's alright," Dean says before lifting both his arms and pulls the shirt over his little brother's torso.

Dean gently lays Sam back down and goes back to the trunk. He reaches down and goes through the front pocket of Sam's bag, looking for something helpful His hand smacks something hard and cold. He grips it and look at it.

Sam's cell phone.

"Yes!" Dean cheers. At that moment he doesn't know what it was. Maybe it was the relief of finding the phone or maybe it was the situation finally setting into him but he felt extremely tired. So tired he literally felt like he couldn't stand anymore.

He staggered over other the backseat of the car again. He lifted Sam's head and took a seat, letting his head rest in his lap.

Dean opened the phone and instantly dialed Bobby's number. He didn't even think about it, it was just natural, especially when they were in trouble. He dialed and put the phone to his ear.

It rang a few times before stopping.

"Hello? Sam?" Bobby's voice answered.

Dean sighed in relief.

"Bobby! Thank God."

"Dean? Dean, is that you?"

Dean could feel his head fall back onto the seat. Boy, he was tired.

"Yeah Bobby. Listen, you have to help us…-"

"Where are you?" Bobby asked. In the back ground Dean could hear things being moved around. That told Dean that Bobby was already one step closer to finding them.

Dean shrugged. "I- I don't know. Bobby, but you have to listen. My Dad-"

"I don't give a rat's ass about your father right now. I care about you boys. Now where are you? Dean, where are you?"

"I don't know, Bobby. I honestly have no idea. I'm sorry."

Dean heard Bobby sigh. "Calm down," he instructed. Dean took in a deep breath. "How's Sam?" Bobby asked. Dean could hear a bit of fear in his voice.

Without moving his head, Dean looked down.

"Not good, Bobby. He's really not doing well. I don't know what to do… please come get us," Dean pleaded.

Within the last few minutes Dean had found himself in a panic. He suddenly didn't know what to do. All he knew was that he needed Bobby, and he needed him now.

"What's wrong with Sam, Dean? What happened?"

Dean sighed again.

"We were in a car accident. But before that he was sick, and now that lady put stitches in his head and now I think it's infected" Dean stammered.

"Lady? What lady?"

"Fran," Dean answered, looking down at Sam.

"Who's that?"

Dean shook his head. "That's not important right now. I'll tell you when you find us. Please, find us."

There was more movement in the background on Bobby's end. " I will, try not to worry. But tell me about Sam, what's exactly wrong?"

"He's got a fever, Bobby. A really, really high fever. I can't get it down, it seems to keep getting higher. And after the accident he seemed worse."

"What about his injuries from the car accident? Is anything broken?"

Dean sighed, he hadn't even thought to check him for anything broken. Damn it, how stupid.

"I - I don't know. I hadn't had time to check. They kept us apart the whole time."

Bobby grunted. "Well check now."

Dean, doing as he was told, ran his hands down Sam's neck. Everything felt fine. He gently pressed over his chest and down both arms. They seemed fine. Dean pushed lightly down his ribs.

"Ah," Sam cried out when Dean's hand pressed on his stomach.

Dean's hand jerked away. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm sorry," Dean apologized.

"What happened?" Bobby asked, hearing Dean talking to Sam.

"Something not right. His ribs, I think. Maybe one's broken or fractured or just bruised. I don't know."

Dean heard a door slam. Bobby's door.

"Alright. What about his breathing. How's his breathing?"

Dean looked down, and listened.

"It's fast, really fast. But they're short, like he just ran a lot or something. They're not even though, I hear something. Like he's congested or something." Dean tried to explain. But nothing was making much sense to him right now. This wave of sleepiness was really taking everything out of him.

"Dean? Dean, what's wrong? What's wrong with you?" Bobby asked, he could hear Dean's voice slowing and his voice getting softer.

Dean was silent. He let his eyes begin to close.

"Dean!" Bobby yelled into the phone. "Answer me. Dean!"

Dean's eyes opened a little.

"Tired…Bobby, I'm tired…"

Bobby sighed.

"Dean, listen to me. I know you're tired, I know all of this is exhausting, but you_ have_ to stay awake. Do you hear me? Dean!"

Dean's head went back again. He couldn't do it.

There was a beeping in his ear. Dean took the phone away from his ear.

_**Low Battery! Please charge! **_The phone read.

"Dean! Wake up!" Bobby yelled into his end of the phone.

Dean's eyes closed.

"Dying…," he began, his voice soft and slow.

"You're not gonna die, Dean. You and Sammy are gonna be just fine. Don't talk like that. Please don't talk like that," Bobby says.

Dean shakes his head.

"No," he corrects, " Phone's dying. It's gonna turn off."

"Damn it," Bobby cursed..

Dean sighes, combing his fingers through Sam's hair.

"You have to keep talking though. Dean? You have to keep talking, tell me what you see."

Dean doesn't answer. He could feel the phone beginning to slip from his ear.

"Dean! Open your eyes and tell me what you see!" Bobby commended, trying to keep the younger man talking.

"Trees, Bobby. All I see is trees."

Bobby shakes his head. "That doesn't help," Bobby says under his breath.

"What about signs. I know there's signs around you. There has to be."

"Uhm.." Dean groans.

The phone beeped again.

_**Low battery! Please charge! **_

"Bobby, the phone…"

" I don't care what the God damned phone says. What signs do you see?" Bobby says, his voice stern.

Dean's eyes open for a second, in the distance he tried to read the blurry sign.

"I think it says 'Patterson Rest-Stop, 55 miles'"

"Alright. How about then you left your house, which way did you go?"

Dean's head falls back again.

"Right," he answers softly.

"Did you go on the highway?"

"Yeah…"

"What exit did you take?" Bobby asks, in the back, Dean can hear the hum of his engine, that only made him more sleepy.

"43..."

"That's good, Dean. Just keep talking okay. You can do it. Then which way did you go?"

Dean groaned a loud . This was too much, his eyes were getting heavier. He couldn't stay awake much longer.

"Dean! Which way did you go?!"

"Straight…just go straight. Please find us, Bobby. Please…"

Sam's cell phone slipped out of Deans hand and fell onto his lap.

"Dean! Dean, wake up!"

He couldn't do it, Dean's body finally relaxed and he let the darkness take over.

"Dean! Sam! Some one answer me! Dean?"

The phone beeped.

_**Low battery! Please charge!**_

"Dean! Wake up! Dean…" Bobby's voice faded away. It was drowned out by the rain and the whipping wind and roaring thunder.

_**Low battery! Please charge!**_

The phone beeped again.

"Dean! Damn it, Dean. Just stay strong, I'm coming for you…"

The phone flashed one more time before going black, and cutting off Bobby's only connection to his boys.

* * *

**Was that a cliff hanger? **

**Oh look at that, I guess it was. XD**

**hahaha !**

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	13. Chapter 13

Dean woke up who knows how many hours later, still in the same position. The phone that was once at his ear, keeping him on contact with Bobby has slipped out of his grip and in his lap, just above Sam's head. Dean's vision was blurry for a second, but it soon came into focus. He let his eyes wander down to Sam, he looked the same. He was still in the same position, which was awkward for Sam. Usually he'd toss and turn in his sleep, with or without a nightmare. Just seeing that brought Dean back to reality and made him think how much trouble they were actually. But he honestly had to say the nap was exactly what he needed. He needed to be able to just let go, to feel safe even if it was just for an hour or two.

Dean ran his finger over the side of Sam's face.

"Sam," he called out.

He didn't answer. Dean wasn't really expecting them to.

Dean's hand rested on his forehead and surveyed Sam's fever.

It feels about the same, but he won't know for sure until they're at the hospital.

"Sammy, c'mon, wake up," Dean called. He shook Sam's shoulder.

Sam didn't answer. Sam's didn't flinch. Sam didn't groan, moan, sniffle, or move. Sam did nothing.

Dean let out a shaky breath, feeling his fear heighten.

"Sam!" he says louder.

Nothing. Not even a twitch of his hand.

"Sammy, please. Wake up, come on. Open your eyes," Dean commanded.

He shook his younger brother, probably harder than he should've. But at that moment he didn't care.

Sam did nothing. He stayed in the same place. Nothing on him moved beside the rapid rising and falling of his chest. The only thing that kept Dean from completely freaking out was Sam's quick, uneven breathing. It wasn't normal, but it was Dean's only proof that Sam's was gone.

Dean lifted Sam into his arms and held him close. He rested his head on his and talked into his ear.

"C'mon Sammy. This isn't funny anymore. Wake up. Please wake up," Dean says, brushing Sam's hair with his hand. " I need to know that you're okay, at least for now. But I'm gonna get us help. I promise. I'll make sure you're okay. Everything's gonna be okay," Dean promised.

He was so engrossed in waking Sam, he hadn't noticed the car driving up behind them. He hadn't noticed the man walk out the car and jog over to them, but he did notice the knocking on the window before the door was yanked open. He hadn't seen then man because he had pulled him into a hug so fast, but there was a familiar smell. A smell that told Dean for sure that everything was gonna be alright.

Bobby.

"Thank God I found you. I'm sorry it took so long," Bobby says softly to Dean. Bobby pulls back, releasing from the hug. He looked over Dean's shoulder and saw Sam resting in his arms. He was out cold and Bobby could tell he'd been like that a while.

"He okay?" Bobby asked, pulling Dean out of the car and taking his place. He put Sam's head on his shoulder and felt him forehead.

"Damn, he's burning up. How long's he been like this?" Bobby asked, removing his hand from Sam's head and continued down the rest of his body, checking for any further injuries.

Dean shrugged, he didn't really know. It's amazing that this whole disaster took place in the last three days. Everything seemed like a blur. "Uh, a couple days."

"A couple days!?"

"Yeah. Bobby, I'm sorry," Dean apologized.

Bobby looked away form Sam and up at Dean.

"There's no need to say sorry. It's not your fault. You understand?"

Dean shook his head and rubbed his eyes, he was beginning to feel tired again.

"Good," Bobby replies. He steps out of the car and lifts Sam, holding him . With his right hand he reaches out and pats Dean on the shoulder.

"C'mon. Lets get Sammy some help," Bobby says with a slight smile. Dean smiled back, but he only did it because he had nothing else to do. As of right now he was scared out of his mind, he couldn't keep his thoughts straight.

Bobby placed Sam in the back of his car, gestured for Dean to get in the front seat.

They all got into the car. Bobby strapped the middle seatbelt around Sam's waist to try to keep him still through the car ride.

Bobby turned the keys and sped off down the road.

There was silence.

Bobby kept his eyes on the road and Dean kept turning around, looking at Sam.

He felt Bobby touch his shoulder. Dean looked over.

"There's nothing you can do from him right now, son. I know that's hard for you to hear. And I know you'll do all you can to help Sam. But right now he needs medical attention, and that's what we're gonna get him," Bobby smiled a sympathetic smile. "You did all you can, Dean. I know you did. But I think it's time you rest."

Dean looked at him uneasily, not really wanting to sleep right now even though he was too tired to put into words. He had his mind set on helping Sam, even though Bobby's trying to convince him that there's nothing he can do.

Bobby pressed Dean's shoulder back, guiding him back frontward in his seat. Bobby placed a loving hand on the side of his face.

"Sleep, son. .It's alright. I'll wake you up when we get to the hospital."

Dean nodded. He rested his hand on the window and sighed.

Just as Sam had did earlier: he watched the trees go by, feeling the soft vibration of the car in the pavement and the hum of the engine.

With the hand of Bobby massaging his shoulder, he slept.

* * *

Two hours, forty four minutes, and seventeen seconds.

That's how long the doctors have been working on Sam.

A doctor came out to Dean and Bobby once. He gave a quick overview of Sam's condition and from Dean's point of view, it didn't sound too good.

"He's taken about two good blows to the head," he had started. "One, where the wound on the side of his head is. And two, one from the accident, it seems like his head went forward and smashed against the dash board. Both of them have the possibility of causing damage."

This is where Dean had jumped in.

"Damage? Brain damage?" he asked, his voice getting higher.

The doctor nodded slowly.

"Try not to worry too much. It's possible that they've done nothing, and you're brother's brain is fine," the doctor had said.

Bobby and Dean traded looks.

Then, the doctor continued.

"From what we see from a very brief examination, he had bruising on his chest and abdominal area. At least one of his ribs are broken, our nurse pointed that out to us. He's being prepped surgery now. We'll let you know as soon as soon as he's out." the doctor says.

"Surgery?" Dean had said, stepping closer.

The doctor had nodded.

"Yes, son. You're brother's hurt pretty bad. This is the only way we can make him better," the doctor explained. He hunched his back a little and talked slow to Dean like he was four, but Dean didn't care.

Dean's face softened and he looked up at Bobby before looking at the doctor.

"But he's gonna be okay, right?" Dean asked, his voice full of concern.

The doctor shrugged.

"It's uncertain as of right now. But we'll let you know."

That was what was said about three hours ago.

But now Dean and Bobby are waiting in the waiting room, trying not to worry their heads off. Bobby had began to talk to Dean but stopped when he noticed the tiredness on his face. He knew that the only thing that was keeping him awake was the fact that Sam wasn't out of surgery yet.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, the doctor come from behind the two double doors and walked briskly over to them.

"How is he?" Dean asked, rubbing his eyes.

"He got through the surgery as best he could considering his condition,' they were told.

Bobby looked around momentarily before making eye contact with the doctor.

"Were you able to fix everything wrong with him?" Bobby asked.

The doctor flipped through his papers.

"We re-stitched the wound and cleaned it out. We also put a clean bandage around his midsection to keep from damaging anymore of his ribs. Three are already broken. His left arm is fractured, we figured from the crash. But one of the more serious concerns came when we took a blood sample to get his blood type."

Bobby's eyes stretched a little. "Concerns? What concerns?" he gripped his coffee cup a little tighter.

The doctor sighed.

"We found a substance running through his veins. A substance that we weren't familiar with. We aren't exactly sure, but the components of this substance may cause a breakdown of cells around the brain cavity.

Not only that. I'm sorry, but we've found swelling around Samuel's brain also. It seems that the swelling is pressing on his brain, causing complications," the doctor explained.

"What kind of complications?" Dean asked, biting the side of his nail.

"Well for one, you said you were unable to wake him recently, that would be the cause of that. If he wakes, he may have trouble understanding so things, he may be antisocial, he may not talk at all…"

Dean rubbed his eye.

"So he can't talk?" Dean asked.

The doctor shook his head.

"We aren't sure yet. We'll see when he wakes up, after we do some test and brain scans."

"Well when well he wake up?" Bobby asks, taking a sip of his cold coffee.

The doctor shrugs.

"That's not us to us," the doctor says. "That's up to Samuel. But you have to give him some time, he's been through a lot recently. Which brings me to my last concern."

"What?" Dean and Bobby both ask at the same time.

The doctor sighs.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester, but someone's been physically and sexually abusing Samuel. The police have been called and they're on their way. Please, both of you, follow me into the backroom where we can talk about this more privately."

Bobby couldn't move though. He stood there with his mouth hung open he felt the coffee cup slide out of his grip and breaks loudly on the shiny tile floor.

"What?" he stammers. "Someone's been hurting Sam?"

* * *

**Alright, so Bobby knows now. But he's just hearing the beginning wait until he hears the whole story. And next chapter, just a heads up, John's back ! **

**Yes, this should be interesting. **

**Another thing, thank you all who reviewed last chapter. I got over 100 !**

**Thank you!!!**

**Anyway, like always. More Reviews=More chapters and faster updates. **

**Please Review =) It's really appreciated.**


	14. Chapter 14

"I understand this is hard for you, but if you know something you have to tell us," Mr. Garcia says. Two police men stand behind them . They both have notepads in their hands, writing. The taller one stops for a second, looks at Dean, then continues writing.

Dean kept his head down. At first he was ready to blurt his father's name out and tell them everything he ever did to Sam. He didn't care what happened to him. But on the other hand it was still his father, and even though he knows that he's no good, something's keeping Dean from squealing. Somewhere inside of him he still loves his father and didn't want to get in trouble. Dean didn't know what to do. He was stuck.

"Dean," Bobby says softly. He reaches out and touches Dean's hand. He looks up. "If you know something, and by the look on your face I know you do, you have to tell me. Please, Dean. This is important. It's important to Sam."

Feeling pressured, Dean looked down, but Bobby taps his hand to get his attention again. "Dean look at me," he says. "If you know who's hurting Sammy you have to tell me. We need to make sure they don't do it again. I know you don't like to see Sam hurt, but I also know you like doing things on your own. But this isn't something you can do by yourself. You need to tell us what you know so we all can help him."

Breathing out deeply, Bobby sits back.

The shorter police man comes to the table and sits up and sits next to Dean.

"Samuel's you're brother, right?" he asks.

Dean nods slowly.

"Younger than you?"

Dean nods again.

"So don't you wanna take care of him? Make sure no one hurts him?"

"Yeah," Dean says softly.

The doctor sits back and smiles.

"How old is he?"

Dean looks over to Bobby for a second.

"Sixteen," Dean answers. His vision now moves to the police officer sitting next to him .

Bobby stands and walks over to the police officer and the doctor in the corner.

"Why isn't he asking about who hurt Sam?" Bobby asks softly. It was only loud enough for the cop and Mr. Garcia to hear.

"It's just a technique we use sometimes. It's to get his mind off what happened, and maybe he'll give us clues or a lead so we can try to figure out who's abusing Sam," the police officer says back just as quietly.

Bobby nods.

"So how old are you?" the officer at the table with Dean asks.

"Just turned twenty," he answer softly. "It's weird though, I still feel like a kid."

"Why?"

Dean shrugs. "I don't know. It feels like I haven't grown enough. I'm not doing what I'm supposed to do."

He officer looks at him. "What are you supposed to be doing?"

"Protecting my brother," Dean answers quickly.

The officer looks up at the other officer, the doctor, and Bobby on the other side of the room. They all move in a little. Anticipating Dean's response.

"Protecting him from who?"

Dean's mouth opens to answer….

"What the hell?!" a voice calls seconds before it swings open. A voice all too familiar to Dean and Bobby.

John.

The door bangs against the wall as he storms in.

"Dad?" Dean says a loud, standing.

John's focus turns to Dean and his eyes light up.

"Dean," he says softly. John walks briskly across the room and over to Dean. He wraps his arms around him and pulls him close.

"I'm so glad they found you," John whispers, rocking Dean back and forth. Dean pushed away, making his father release him. John, didn't stop though. He put his hands on his face.

"Oh, God. Are you okay? How about Sam? Where is he?" John asks whole he turns Dean's head from side to side, surveying his current appearance. Dean swiped his hand away and took a step back.

"I'm fine," he says softly but sternly. John stopped.

John turned around to Bobby.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded.

Bobby scratched the side of his head. "Well the boys were in a bit of trouble over the last couple of days. They were in a car accident, and from what we heard from Dean earlier, they were kidnapped. That's really all Dean told us. But when we got here and the doctors were finished doing surgery on Sam-"

"Surgery? What's wrong with him? What happened?" John asked. He felt backwards for the chair. When he found it, he sat down slowly.

"Car accident. And they said they found some kind of substance in him. When I found the boys he had a pretty bad stitching job on the side of his head and the doctors assume the substance they injected into him was to either numb the pain or to make him sleep so he wouldn't feel the pain," Bobby explained.

John held his hand up and waved it in front of his face, telling Bobby to stop talking.

"Wait. Wait. Who gave him the injection? The doctors?" John asked.

Bobby shook his head. "No, no. Whoever the people were who kidnapped them."

John attention turned to Dr. Garcia and the officers. "Well did the injection do any damage?"

"_Injections_," Dr. Garcia corrected. "From the amount of it we found going through your son's veins, he had to be injected with it several time. Maybe three or four. But yes, I'm sorry. We found that I caused some cells in and around his brain to either break down or just die. There is also swelling in his skull, it may or may not be from the injections. The swelling and other head injuries might be from the impact of the car accident. Sam also has a fractured arm and about three broken ribs also."

John put his hand to his face and sighed deeply.

"Oh God," he says. "How did this happen?" His attention went to Dean. "How did you let this happen?"

Dean slammed his hand on the table.

"It's not my fault, Dad. I did all I could."

John shot him a hateful look. "I guess you didn't try hard enough, huh? If you did, Sam wouldn't be like this right now."

Dean didn't answer. Inside he was actually beginning to agree. He felt guilty. He felt this whole thing was his fault. How did he let this happen? Maybe he didn't try hard enough? Maybe if he did, Sam wouldn't be like this? Maybe his Dad was right…

"That's not the worst of it, John," Bobby says softly.

John looks up at him. "What? What does that mean?" he stammers.

Dr. Garcia, again stepped in to answer the question. "Well while we were checking Samuel for any further injuries we discovered bruises and scars. At first we thought they were from the crash or something. But his bruises were far too old. If they were injuries from the would've been fresh maybe even come of them bleeding, but they weren't. His bruises are at least a month old. Also, we found scars that appear to be from a belt and some seem they are from a solid object like a bat or a pole or a pipe, something like that."

Dean slid into his chair and covered his face.

"Dean, what's a'matter?" Bobby asked.

Dean shook his head. "How could someone do that to Sam? How could they do that to any kid, for that matter. They're sick," Dean says, fighting back tears. John turned around at shot Dean a threatening look.

"Seeing that as a red flag, we continued our check over Sam and we found that your son is also being sexually abused."

John's eyes go big. "Sexually abused? Sam? No, that's not possible."

Dr. Garcia shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester, but it is."

John puts his hands up and buries his face in them .

Behind him, Dean shakes his head.

_You're a good actor, Dad. You're such a liar. It's a good thing these people don't know you like I do because if they did they would be able to see how much of a damn liar you are. It's disgusting, actually. How you could do that to you're kid, and then pretend like you don't know a thing. You're pathetic… that's why I'm gonna tell Bobby everything. And once Bobby finds out, you're dead…_ Dean thought.

"Is he awake? Is Sam awake?" John asked.

Dr. Garcia shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

"When will he?"

"There's not an exact time, Mr. Winchester. Waking him up is not up to us. It's up to Sam. We have no control over when he decides to some back to us. But he'll do it when he's ready," Dr. Garcia says.

John nods.

He turns around to Dean again.

"Have you seen him yet?" he asks.

Dean doesn't answer.

"No," Dr. Garcia answered again. "No one has seen Sam, yet."

"Can we?" John asks.

The doctor smiles. "Sure."

John stands and heads for the door. He turns around when he notices Dean isn't following.

"Aren't you coming? Don't you wanna see your brother?" John asks.

Dean sighs. "Of course I wanna see him. But I don't wanna see you, so I'll wait," Dean says in a nasty tone.

John doesn't even wait a second. He shrugs and heads out the door with the doctor and one of the police officers.

Once the door was shut John immediately stopped the doctor and the officer.

"Hey can I talk to you for a second?" John asked.

"Sure," Dr. Garcia says.

John nods.

"It's about Sam."

"Alright," the doctor says.

"I think I know who's abusing him," John admits.

Dr. Garcia's eyes go big. "You do? Who?"

John sighs. "It's really hard to say this. But I think Dean's the one abusing Sam."

* * *

**Oh, John. Blaming Dean again? I smell trouble...**

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	15. Chapter 15

"It's my Dad," Dean admitted. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. He looked over at Bobby who had his hand pressed against the wall, keeping his balance. "It's my Dad," Dean repeated. "He's the one hurting Sam. I know he is."

The officer retook his seat next to Dean.

"How do you know that?" he asked, flipping his notepad back out. He clicked the ballpoint pen once and pressed it to the paper, ready to write.

Dean looked up at Bobby again who had a shocked expression on his face. He hadn't moved since Dean began talking. He couldn't believe it. How could John do something like that?

"Sam told me," Dean says softly.

"When did he tell you?"

Dean looked to the right and thought for a second. "It was like a day before we got into the accident. Wait- so, if today's Thursday…" Dean thought a loud. "Then he told me on Monday."

The doctor nodded and wrote it down.

"What did Sam say to you? How'd he tell you?" the officer asked.

Dean sat back.

"He was having a nightmare. And the next morning I asked if he wanted to talk about it, you know, to make him feel better. He said he didn't. So I asked him why and he told me I didn't want to know. He said it would just make me mad.

At the time I didn't know what was going on, and I told him I wasn't going to get mad. We basically went back and forth like that for a while, and eventually he said he was gonna tell me. So I sat on the bed next to him and waited for him to start. I knew I wasn't gonna get anywhere if I rushed him. So I waited.

Eventually he said that he had to tell me something. He told me that it's about our Dad. By then I was really interested. I knew it just wasn't some stupid nightmare he wanted to talk about, it was something serious.

He told me that Dad '_does things to him_', if you know what I mean. And he said he hits him, too."

Dean put his head down.

He felt to officer rub his back .

"Dean I know this is hard for you. But you're doing well. You're doing really well," Bobby says.

Dean nods.

"Did Sam tell you anything else?" the officer asks.

Dean sniffled. He lifted his head a little and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt before sitting up straight, taking in a cleansing breath, and continuing.

"He said Dad would tie him to his bed and just hit him. Then when he hit Sam enough, to the point where he knew he wasn't gonna fight back, he'd get on top of him. He'd kiss him and touch him," Dean said with disgust in his voice. He stared at the table as he talked. He spoke through his teeth to keep himself clam. " He said that Dad would wait till I went out to do it. He would do it late at night or when I'm out. He was always drunk, Sam said. But that was when I was living with them."

"You don't live with your father?"

Dean shook his head. "No. I moved out. But it kind of felt like he kicked me out."

"How so?" the officer asked.

Dean shrugged. "He said that it was time for me to be on my own. He said that I had to be a man. He said that he wanted to be alone with Sam. That it needed to be just him and Sam for a while so they could 'fix' their relationship. I swear, if I'd known what he's been doing I never would've left."

Dean slammed his hand down on the table in frustration.

At that moment, Bobby walked briskly over to him and took a seat.

"We know, Dean. It's not your fault. It's not your fault." Bobby says soothingly.

"I feel like it's my fault," Dean mumbled. Out of anger, Dean felt a tear beginning to form behind his eyes. He brushed them away quickly and looked over at Bobby. He gave him a weak smile.

"Why don't we go talk to you're dad and the other officers, Dean," the officer says, standing up.

"No!" Dean says, standing, too.

The officer looks at him with a wild questioning look.

"Are you stupid?" Dean says more than asks. "Don't you think my Dad is just gonna deny everything I just told you? Why would he admit to something like that? He's supposed to me our Dad, not our molester. He's not gonna tell you anything. He's gonna say that I'm lying and that I'm making up the whole thing. You're never gonna get anything out of him. He's horrible that way. I hate him," Dean says.

The officer put his hands up. "Whoa, take it easy. Just calm down." he says.

Dean gives him a glare. "I am calm."

The officer open the door and the hospital hallways are visible.

"How about we go see you're brother? Huh? I'm sure he wants to see you," the officer tries to persuade. Without answering, Dean walks out the door in route to see his little brother.

* * *

Just as Dean walked into Sam's room, the nurse was just making her way out.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized. She brushed her dark curly hair off her caramel skin and smiled a perfect smile. "I didn't know he had visitors. I'm sorry," she says again.

Dean smiles a little. He looks back at Bobby who placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. He nods, letting Dean know everything's okay, even though at that moment he didn't have any doubts.

"How long have you been in here?" Dean asked, tilting his head.

She shrugs. "I've been in and out of here for a bout thirty minutes."

Dean gestures over to Sam in the bed.

"How is he?"

The nurse shook her head. "It's a shame, really. I've only read the sheets on the clipboards they have for us, but I can tell it's pretty serious. I was scheduled to check on him every couple of minutes. From what I see, he made it though surgery pretty much as good as expected. I believe he had a couple of complications. But other than that, nothing much went wrong. The last few tests show that even with the swelling, the brain waves are pretty normal and show frequent brain activity, so that's good. It's pretty clear to see that his condition isn't good, but you can only hope for the best," she says with a slight smile.

Dean nods and looks down at the floor.

"You related to him?" she asks after a long pause.

Dean nods. "Yeah, he's my brother," he says. He looks over at Sam again and sighs. "I just wish there was something I could do to help him," he says softly.

The nurse looks over her shoulder at Sam then back at Dean with a smile.

"Well I could use you're help…if you're up for it," she says, her smile growing wider.

Unsure, Dean looks back at Bobby who gives him a nod and a slight push forward.

"Go on," he says.

The nurse walks over to the sink, gesturing for Dean to follow her.

"Wash your hands please," she says. '

The water is turned on. As Dean is running his hands under the water he asks, "What are we doing?"

"Well, I'm supposed to change the dressing on you're brother's head every half hour until the bleeding stops completely and the redness subsides. So, I figured you can help me do that. Sound good?" she asks,

Dean nods. "Yeah, sure."

"Good," the nurse says. She walks over to Sam, followed by Dean.

"Alright, see that piece right there? The part that's kind of sticking out?" she asks, pointing to the loose end of the bandage going around Sam's head. Dean nods.

"Good. Take that piece and unwrap it slowly, be careful okay?"

Dean reaches out and pulls the bandage off slowly. He unraveled it as much as he could until it came to the back part which was behind Sam's head. Not sure if he should move him, Dean looks over at the nurse.

"Go on," she encourages. "Lift his head and continue to take off the dressing."

Listening, Dean lifts Sam's head gently. To make sure he didn't cause any harm, Dean sat down on the bed, making his reach shorter.

Soon, the wrapping was off Sam's head and his newly stitched wound was visible. To Dean it looked worse. He cringed at the blood oozing out the side and seeing the string pulling his skin together, helping the would heal. It glistened in the bright light of the hospital.

"You did good, Dean. You did really good," Bobby says from the other side of the bed. He reaches across and pats Dean on the back.

The nurse smiles. "He's right. You did really good. Now would you please lay him back down so I can re wrap his head with a new bandage?"

Dean nods, "Sure," he says before standing and walking over to Bobby.

They watch the nurse work on Sam for a little until they heard a knock on the side of the door.

"Can you come out here please," Dr. Garcia asks, motioning for both Deana and Bobby to walk out.

Outside there is two more officers, the old officers from before, Dr. Garcia, the nurse they spotted earlier when they first entered, and Dean and Sam's father.

"Is there a problem?" Bobby asks, rubbing the side of his head.

The first officer nods. "Yes, actually there is."

"What seems to the be the problem?" Dean asks. "Is it about Sam?"

"Well we talked about both of the stories you and your father told us and they don't match up. They don't match at all, not even a little bit." Dr. Garcia says, tapping his fingers together.

"What?" Bobby asks. "What does that mean?"

The doctor shrugs.

"Well, that means that either Dean or John is lying about what they know," Dr. Garcia says.

"How did that happen?" Bobby asks.

Dr. Garcia looks at John then looks at Dean.

"It seems that they've bother accused each other of abusing Sam. As of right now we're not sure who is telling the truth, but we will find out. Please, come back into the room and make sure you find somewhere comfortable because no one's leaving until we find out the truth about who's hurting Sam," the officer says.

For now, no one argues.

But Dean could feel his blood boiling. John's shooting Dean threatening looks. Bobby's unsure of either but can't possibly imagine Dean hurting Sam. The officers have a stern, dead, calm look on their face and Dr. Garcia looks at both Dean and John with doubting looks. Everyone was on their toes, ready to snap at anyone to get to the truth.

Oh man, this can't possibly end well…

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	16. Chapter 16

**WARNING : For those of you where kind of twitch, squint, smile, or make a face when there is graphic talking or something. Dean kind of goes into detail, but I don't think it's too bad. But if you think I went too far, which i don't think I did, but let me know and I'll tone it down a little next time. Anyway, enjoy :)**

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"That's ridicules!" John stammers. They've only been in the room for a maximum of ten minutes and he was already the first one to start yelling. He stood angrily, sending his foldable metal chair into the newly white painted wall. The officer closest to him stood, too, he put his hands firmly on John's shoulders in order to keep him a safe distance from Dean.

Dean looked away from his father.

"Dean are you sure?" Bobby asked, rubbing his back. Dean shook his head yes then looked back at his father.

"Yeah it's true. He's hurting Sam and he knows it. Look at him. Why would he act this way unless he's guilty?" Dean pointed out. The officer that wasn't holding John back nodded to himself and wrote something down onto his little back notepad. Dean sits back in his chair and turns to Bobby.

Bobby wasn't looking at Dean though, he had his eyes set on John. Anger could be seen bubbling inside him. His face was as still as stone, his breathing was quick, and he looked at John like he could literally rip his hear out. Dean put his hand on his, catching his attention.

"You're a liar, Dean. A damn liar," John says, calming a little. He flips his chair back over and takes a seat. He rests his hands on the table and gives Dean an evil smirk.

"He's only saying that I'm responsible for one reason, officer. And I know the reason why," John says. He scratches the side of his leg, places it back on the ground, then continues. "Dean's only accusing me of abusing my son because he doesn't want to get caught. In other words, he's the one abusing Sam."

Dr. Garcia nodded in agreement. "He told me that earlier, but there's no proof until we take a DNA sample from both of you," he announces to Dean and John.

"Then take a freaking sample, I don't care," Dean says, slamming his hand on the table.

John chuckled. He reaches across the table and takes Dean's hand. At first, Dean tries to pull his hand away but he feels his father's tight, painful grip on his. Dean winces at the pain he feels. His father's face softens a little as he tries to look sympathetic. All eyes are on him and Dean.

"Dean, it's okay. We're gonna get you help, okay?" John says, wiping a fake tear from his eye.

Dean's eyes go wide and he tries again to pull his hand away.

"Help? Help for what? I didn't do anything!"

John shakes his head.

"You don't have to deny it anymore. I forgive you. Sam forgives you. It's okay. Just say it," John continues. He rubs Dean's hand in his, but it isn't comforting, it hurts.

"What the hell? Get off me," Dean demands. "I'm not going anything. You're the one who needs help!"

John sighs. "I understand you can't control the feeling you have for you're brother. But we're gonna do all we can to help you, Dean. Everything's going to be okay."

By then Dean had had enough. He rips his hand from John and stands.

"You're the one hurting Sam! Don't you _dare _try to put this on me! None of this is my fault. You're sick, Dad. Really fucking sick, and they realize that, the quicker they'll take you away form Sam. All of this is you're fault. The car crash! The kidnapping. Sam's nightmares! Me moving out! All of the cuts and bruises on Sam! _Everything_! It's all you're fault!" Dean screams. He doesn't know what came over him, but by the time he was finished his face was red, his eyes were puffy and he was crying.

Dean felt his hand being pulled, but it wasn't by his father this time. Bobby was tugging at him, trying to get him to sit.

"Just calm down, Dean. Calm down," he says softly.

Dean's sits and wipes his eyes vigorously.

"Son?" the officer calls to Dean. He looks over at him, still wiping his eye with his sleeve. "You okay?"

Dean shakes his head no. " No, I'm not alright. I won't be until you put him in jail or something."

The officer next to John clears his throat and gestures toward Dean.

"You seem pretty sure that you're father is the one hurting your brother. How can you be so sure?" he asks.

"Sam told me," Dean says flat out.

"When?"

"A couple of days ago. He told me everything, Dad. _Everything._" Dean says. They way Dean spoke sent a cold shiver down John's spine.

John gulped. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Dean sat forward. "You know what that means. I know what you do to him."

Dr. Garcia steps forward. "No, no, that's not necessary. You don't have to go into detail just yet."

Dean heard him, but didn't obey.

Dean's eyes hardened as he stared his father down until eventually John broke the stare and looked away.

"You were drunk. You're always drunk," Dean starts. John opens his mouth to object, but Dean cuts him off. "Don't try to deny it, Dad. Sam told me. He told me how much you'd hit him. You'd slam him into the wall, you'd fling him across the room like he's a puppet. You'd chase him around the house like a wild man," Dean blinked hard. "But that was just on the nights you were nice, right? But on the nights you couldn't control yourself you took it to a whole-nether-level, did you. You'd come into Sam's room late at night. Sam said you'd punch him and kick him to the point where he was screaming at you. But when he got too loud, you'd stuff his mouth so he wouldn't be heard. You didn't want anyone interrupting your 'alone time' with Sam, now did you?" Dean shot his father an evil glare before continuing.

"You were smart though, Dad. You'd only hit him in his stomach, his back, his chest and his legs. Every once in a while you'd get his face, but not enough to make someone notice. How long did you hit him, Dad? Thirty minutes? Forty five? An hour?" Dean asked hypothetically . John shook his head as his anger boiled. Dean was really pushing his buttons.

"Or did you just hit him until he didn't fight back?" Dean shook his head, knowing that's the right answer. "Yeah, that's it ; isn't it? You'd punch Sam until he couldn't take anymore and had no choice but to lay there. Until he had no choice but to let you do whatever you wanted to him, right _Dad_?"

John stiffened. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't say anything. Seeing that no one was going to speak up, Dean continued.

"He told me all about it Dad. Is seemed you had a routine or something. Once Sam stopped fighting back, you'd take his shirt off. If you hadn't done that already. Then you'd get on top of him, like he was a fucking animal. First, you'd run your hands through his hair, then you'd put your hands on his chest and his stomach….," Dean shook his head and his voice trailed off. He felt Bobby grab his hand for comfort, but he quickly shook his hand off and continued. He had to continue.

Dean wiped his eye as he felt a tear beginning to form. "Then you'd kiss him, did you? You'd kiss his cheek, his neck, his chest, his stomach, and his mouth," Dean's voice was strong and stern and filled with disgust when explaining his father. " You didn't care when he begged you to stop. You just kept going, you'd do whatever to get what you want. Sam would cry until no more tears were left and you still didn't stop. He'd beg you, he's push your filthy hands away from him, but you didn't care. You wanted Sam and you wouldn't stop until you had him."

Dean wiped his eye again.

"Alright-" Bobby began to interject, but Dean had already continued.

"You'd touch him. Even though he begged you not to. Then you'd kiss him again, and if he tried to make you get off, you'd hit him, did you? And you keep going and going, and when you couldn't resist it anymore, you'd make him touch you, too." Dean shook his head.

"You don't get it, do you? I don't think you get that what you do I wrong. Do you?" Dean slams his hand down on the table and everyone in the room jumps a little. "He's your _son_. Your son, Dad. And you're making him have sex with you! What type of father is that? How can you live with yourself? You're disgusting," Dean says to his father. Across the table John his heated. He's clenching and unclenching his fists, trying not to pounce on Dean.

"You fucked him up, Dad. I hope you know that," Dean started. "He's already having nightmares about it. He's afraid to sleep, you know that? He thinks all of this is his fault. He thinks that it's his fault that you were _raping _him…"

"I never fucking raped him!" John shouted, throwing his chair back again.

Dean stands, too. Refusing to back down to his father anymore.

"Oh yeah? The what do you call it then? What do you call forcing someone into sexual activity?" Dean challenged, knowing that in every way he was right.

John was taken aback by the question. He stumbled over his response.

"I've never done anything to hurt Sam," John says back, his voice firm.

Dean couldn't help but laugh. He rolled his eyes. "Sure."

Bobby stood also, feeling the tension. "I'm not exactly sure what's going on," he says to John. " But if I find out that _any _of what Dean just said is true, you better run or something. Because, I. Will. Kill. You," Bobby threatened. His eyes were as cold as ice as he stared down John. It was clear Bobby was on Dean's side.

"Nothing has been proven yet," the officer says, making his presence clear again.

"Yes," Dr. Garcia stepped in. "There was still several tests that need to be done, and of course Sam would have to prove one of you guilty. We need to hear his side, we need to know how he feels and how he sees things."

Dean nodded.

There was a hard knock on the door and a small nurse walked into the room.

"Dean?" she calls.

"Yeah?" he answers, not really sure what she wants.

"Uh, your brother's awake, he's calling for you. Hurry though, he's tired and will probably go back to sleep soon," she informs them before closing the door.

Dean smiles, John's face hardens, and Bobby's face show's relief.

The officers, doctors, and Bobby head out the room to go see Sam. Just as Dean was about to leave he seen the door close in front of him. Before he could react John grabbed him by the neck and slammed his into the wall, sending a pain wave down his back. He felt the wind being knocked out of him, and when he tried to suck some more in he found it impossible. He couldn't breathe.

He felt John's powerful hand press harder and harder on his neck until he literally seen black dots forming in in his vision.

"I don't know what the hell came over you, but you better stop it right now," John demands. "You're making me look like a monster to these people. You're embarrassing me, Dean, and I won't take this anymore. You understand?" John asks.

Dean couldn't answer. He couldn't move. He couldn't talk.

"Now you know damn well Sam will do whatever you tell him, so you better tell him to lie. If he tells anyone what I did to him, I'll kill you. I will _kill _you. I tried to be nice in the beginning. I tried to get you both to stay. I tried to work this out. I tried to change for you, but now I see there's no need. You're a fucking brat and that's all you'll be." John insults.

With his other hand he smacks Dean across the face, leaving a red mark.

John smiles.

"There's plenty more where that cane from," he says smacking the side of his head. " Just ask your brother."

With that, John let go and followed everyone else out to Sam's room.

Dean bent over, gasping for air. When he finally caught his breath he, too, headed out the door.

The only thing he could hope for was Sam telling the truth and sending John far, far away from them…hopefully.

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	17. Chapter 17

Pale.

Sam looked so pale.

That was the first thing Dean noticed when he entered his room. The walk was silent and full of tension. It seemed worse than the argument in the room a minute ago. Dean had power walked passed everyone except Dr. Garcia who led the way. John had been a head for a while, but Dean knew better than to let him be the one to see Sam first. Seeing his face was only going to scare Sam, which would make him lie about what happened between he and John.

"Oh, God," Bobby says as he enters the room and sees Sam. On the other side of the room Sam lay somewhat peacefully. During the wait he had fallen back asleep. His head was wrapped with a thin bandage. Under it was a gauge that was covering the gash on the side of his head fully. It was still bleeding, though. Specks of blood could be seen seeping through the while bandage, staining it. There were a few cuts and bruises on his face but nothing so bad that it had to be wrapped or covered. Under the blanket, his left arm was loosely put into a sling. The doctor had said earlier that it was slightly fractured and shouldn't take long for it to heal. His midsection was wrapped, too. He had broken three ribs. Two on the left and one on the right. Wires were everywhere. A thin plastic tube went into both of his nostrils, slowly blowing air. There was a heart monitor, too. His heart beat was counted with the almost silent beeping of the machine next to him. There was a plastic that covered his index finger. It also kept track of his pulse. There was Velcro around his upper arm, taking his blood pressure every thirty minutes. The doctor said that the injuries on his body weren't what worried them the most. They were worried about his head and how those injuries would effect his brain and how he understood things. The doctors were going to take another brain scan when he was ready and hopefully give him something to make the swelling around his skull go down.

Dean walked over first. His steps were slow and steady. When he reached the bed he just stared. Sam looked different. Someway, somehow. Dean didn't want to touch him, he was afraid he would break him or something. He looked so- so fragile. Dean's eyes went back to Dr. Garcia.

"I though she said he was awake," Dean says softly.

The doctor shrugs. "He must've fallen back a sleep."

Dean nodded.

He waited a second. "Can I wake him up?"

Dr. Garcia smiled. He could see the eagerness in Dean's eyes. All he wanted to do was see that his brother was okay.

"Sure," Dr. Garcia agreed.

Dean gently placed his hand on Sam's shoulder and shook it.

"Sam," he calls to his sleeping brother.

Sam stirs a little but doesn't wake.

Dean tries again. "Sam, it's time to wake up. Come on."

He shakes Sam again.

"Wake up, Sam," Dean calls again.

This time, when Dean looks down he sees Sam's tired hazel eyes looking up at him. His pupils go larger then smaller, trying to focus on Dean but it isn't really working. Everything's blurry.

John takes a step closer. "Hey Sammy," he says with a smile on his face.

Dean's head swoops sharply toward his father.

"Shut up," Dean commands. Before John has a chance to say something back , Dean turns back to Sam and continues.

"Sam, they wanna ask you something. Okay?" Dean explains.

Sam's looking at him, but it's like he's staring straight through him. He had sort of a blankness in his eyes. He's clam, but in a way too calm. Dean looks back at Bobby then over at the doctor. Why wasn't he talking?

Bobby walks up and over to the other side of Sam's bed. He puts his hand on the side of Sam's face, making him look directly at him.

"Sam, can you hear me?" Bobby asks.

Sam looks at him for a second. His eyes travel to his father for, then back to Bobby.

He nods.

"Sam, listen. The police wanna ask you something really quick. Alright?" Dean says again. Sam turns his head toward Dean.

"All you have to do is tell the truth," Bobby chimes in.

Dr. Garcia walks over to the foot of Sam's bed.

"Sam," he calls.

Shifting his unfocused eyes, Sam looks in the doctor's direction.

"My name is Dr. Garcia. This is Officer Paul and Officer Dylan. They just want to talk to you for a little. I can see that you're tired, but this shouldn't take long. Are you up for that?"

Sam nods slightly. "Yeah," he says in a soft voice.

The officers pulled up a chair and sat it down next to the bed. John moved closer, too. He made his way next to Dean and Sam. Sam's eyes darted to John then down at his bed. He didn't want to look at him.

"Sammy," John says. He puts his hand on Sam's shoulder, making Sam flinch. Sam's eyes close for a second, and reopen slowly. "Don't be scared, son. You know I'd never hurt you."

Letting anger take over him, Dean snatches John's hand off of Sam.

"Don't touch him, you son of a bitch," Dean warns.

John swats his hand away and puts his hand on Sam's shoulder again.

"Try not to worry, Sam. I'm here. You don't have to worry anymore," John says softly. John deserves an Oscar. He was really playing the part of 'innocent, worried father' to the fullest. He brought the sympathetic words, he had soft eyes that were supposed to be filled with compassion and worry for his youngest son, he encouraged Sam constantly, telling him he had nothing to worry about. Too bad only Sam and Dean knew it was an act. To everyone else he looked like father of the year. The way he stood by Sam with one hand on his shoulder, fake tears swelling in his eyes, all of it was sort of breath taking. Honestly, he should look into acting because he's playing this part beautifully. Most in the room were falling for the act. Bobby, on the other hand was skeptical. He wanted to believe Dean, he really did, but he just couldn't see John hurting either of them. But maybe it was just what he wanted to think. Maybe he was letting his expectations of John improving as a father take over what was a clear as day right in front of him. It was possible that he just didn't want to have to face the fact that someone was hurting Sam and it went on for this long without him knowing.

Dean grabbed his fathers arm and tried to pull him back, but he had himself planted firmly on the ground between he and Sam. John bent down a little and went toward Sam's right ear. Sam's eyes went big, he didn't know what he was doing at first. His father's lips stopped just before his ear. He felt John's hot breath run across his ear and he shivered, not wanting his father anywhere near him. But something inside him missed when his father was actually like this. When he was younger and his father told him everything was alright he'd believe it. But now, at sixteen, he knew it was all a lie. Sometimes he missed how things used to be.

John's face got a little closer before he started to speak. His voice was soft, too soft for anyone except Sam to hear.

"Listen you little bitch and you listen good. When these people ask you something you better not say anything that will get me in trouble, you understand. If you say one thing that makes me look suspicious I will hurt you. I will make you feel pain like you never felt before," John threatened. "Do you understand?" he asked .

Sam didn't answer.

The monitor that kept track of Sam's heart rate began beeping quicker and quicker as his pulse raced. Dean looked up at it, then down at Sam. His face now showed fear. He was trying to hide it, though. But he could never get anything past Dean.

Something inside of Dean snapped and he couldn't help himself. He snatched his father. Slammed his against the wall and punched him as hard as he could. John didn't fight back, he knew that all of this was just making Dean look like the bad guy. He was falling into his trap.

Instantly, both officers, Bobby, and Dr. Garcia rushed over. They all sort of fight each other to get to Dean. Quickly, the pull him off John and lead him across the room.

"That's enough!" Officer Dylan says. He had his arm around Dean's stomach pulling him farther away from John who stands on the other side of the room holding the side of his face where he was punched.

"Are you all stupid?! This bastard his hurting my brother and you're pulling me away? That's ridicules! Bobby! Bobby, tell them I could never hurt Sam. Tell them this isn't my fault! Bobby, please, make my Dad stop hurting us. Please!" Dean yelled.

Bobby sighed and shook his head. Dean sounded like a child yelling for his mother. A small tear ran down his face. What else did he have to do to make everyone realize that it's not him whose abusing Sam? How many times does he have to tell them? How much evidence does he need to give before everyone finally believes him?

All of this was really getting to Dean. More and more he wasn't unable to control the things around him. More and more he wasn't able to protect Sam. And that's what he hated the most.

Officer Dylan backed him up more as Officer Paul took hold of Johns upper arm.

Dean backed up until his back hit the wall. He slid down it until he was sitting on the floor. His knees were up to his chest. He put his head on the wall and looked up at the ceiling, blinking hard, attempting not to cry in front or Sam and John. He didn't want Sam to worry and he didn't want John to know that he was getting the best of him. But he couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Why won't you guys believe me? Why would I lie about this?!" Dean's slammed the back of his head hard against the wall in frustration.

Officer Dylan and Bobby both came over to Dean. Bobby put his hand between the wall and Dean head, keeping him from hitting it again.

"Dean just clam down. Please calm down. You're scaring me and you're scaring Sam. Just take a couple deep breaths and talk to us. Okay?" Bobby says in a soothing voice.

Dean shakes his head. "I'm done talking," he replies back in a cold voice.

"What does that mean, Dean? What are talking about?" John asked for across the room. His voice still held the same fake concern for both Dean and Sam.

Dean's eyes watered, realizing that through all of this John was still in the room. Still standing next to Sam. Still tormenting and manipulating them.

"Don't fucking talk to me," Dean told.

John took a step closer.

"I'm trying to help you, Dean. We all are," he replies.

Dean stands, ready to fight again.

Bobby hold his arm, keeping him in place.

"Stay calm, Dean. Sit back down. Come on, Dean," Bobby says.

Dean jerks his arm out of Bobby's grasp.

"What wrong with you, Bobby? You told us that you'd do anything to help us, no matter what. But now I've giving you clean evidence, I'm giving you pure facts and you're still skeptical. You're just like everyone else here. You're a liar, Bobby," Dean says through tears.

"Dean, it's not like that-," Bobby begins.

Dean puts his hand up, telling him to stop talking. "Save it, Bobby. We don't need you. We don't need any of you."

Bobby takes a step back, not sure what to say.

Dean shakes his head, disappointed in Bobby, John, all the officers, Dr. Garcia and himself. He walks toward the door, unable to take it anymore.

"Don't say anything to them, Sam," Dean tells him before he walks out the door, slamming it behind him. Somehow he knew John wouldn't try anything, not tonight at least. Not after everything that just happened.

"Dean come back! Dean!" Bobby called, but Dean didn't even look back.

He had had enough.

Dean was done with trying to get help. He was going to stop his father. He was going to stop him once and for all, no matter what.

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	18. Chapter 18

"Dean stop!" Bobby called after him. He jogged only paces behind him, trying to catch up. He reached out, grabbed his shoulder and spun him so he was facing him.

"What?" Dean snarled, swiping Bobby's hand off his shoulder.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Bobby questioned.

Dean looked away.

"Don't worry about it. I can handle it," he says softly.

Bobby shakes his head. "No, I will worry about it. I'm worried about _you_ Dean. You and Sam. All of this is too much for one day."

Dean nods. "Yeah, all of this is too much for four days." he shakes his head a smiles a little. "Can you believe all of this happened in a matter of four day? Our whole life pretty much fell apart more that it was before in four days. Wow, it's crazy."

Bobby reaches out and pulls Dean into a hug. He rests his head in his hair and breathes out deeply.

"We're gonna get to the bottom of this, okay. Everything's going to be alright. I'll make sure of that," Bobby says.

Dean pushes away. "You can't Bobby. I'm sorry but you can't."

Bobby's eyes widen. "Why?"

Taking a few steps back Dean shakes his head again. "It's hard to explain-"

"Well try."

"Bobby-"

"Dean, listen. You know that you and your brother mean the world to me. You know that I'd do anything to keep both of you safe. But there's no way for me to do that if you don't let me know what making you so scared-," Bobby begins, but it soon cut off.

"I'm not scared. I will _not _let him scare me," Dean says, his eyes growing darker.

Bobby nods slowly. "You're obviously scared of someone. Why else won't you talk to me? Why won't you let me know what's going on?"

Dean's mouth drops.

"What are you talking about? I've talked for hours. I told you just about everything I could. It's not my fault you chose not to believe me, not is it?" Dean snaps back.

Bobby puts his hands to his temples and rubs then like a really bad head ache is coming on. He sighs again, then looks directly at Dean.

"I listened, Dean. I heard every word you said back there. I heard everything you said about your father and Sam. I know what you think happened. But don't you think that you're exaggerating a bit? I mean, you're father would never hurt Sam. And he'd never hurt you." Bobby tells him.

Dean looks down at the floor.

"The only thing you said right was that my Dad would never hurt me. But that's only because he never got the chance to. I never gave him the chance. Me and him were never as close as he would've like. I think we all know that. So that's when he saw an opportunity with Sam. Sam was like a sitting target. He's so sensitive, so naïve, so gullible and easy convincing at times. He's like the perfect victim," Dean bites his bottom lip. "But I won't let him be a victim anymore. I've got to make sure our Dad is no where near him anymore."

Bobby shook his head. "I just can't believe it…," he says almost silently.

Dean shrugs.

"You don't have to. Like I said, if you're gonna help me and Sam that's great. But if you're not, then you're just like everyone else. You fall right into the category of people we don't need in our lives," Dean says in a cold-hearted tone.

"I want to be in your lives, Dean. I want to be there for you and Sam no matter what. But I just find this whole thing ludicrous. Don't you?"

"No, Bobby. I don't find it _ludicrous. _I find it disgusting, don't you? I find it down-right nauseating that anyone would want to do that to their child. I don't know what's rolling around in your mind, but if you don't think that's wrong then there's something up with you, too."

Bobby walks backwards until his legs ram against the chair. He takes a seat.

"I don't know what to say," Bobby confesses.

"Just say you believe us!" Dean shouts. He sighs, and his voice gets softer. "Listen," he starts, "I know that I've probably lied about a lot of things, especially when I was younger, but this is something I would never lie about. You know that when it comes to Sam I don't like to take any chances and I don't like to play games. My number one priority is to keep him safe," Dean says.

"I know."

"Me and Sam would never lie to you."

Bobby nods. "I know."

"So if you know all of this, what's keeping you from being on our side? What's keeping you form helping us get away from our Dad?" Dean questions.

Bobby stands. "Who says I'm not on your side?"

Dean shrugs. "It sure as hell sounds like it."

"No, no. I'm always on you guys' side. All of my questions and doubting was just to make sure you two were both solid enough to stand against your Dad in court. I just wanted to make sure there's no cracks in your story; I wanted to make sure that there's no way that your Dad can walk out of this with just a slap on his wrist." Bobby shakes his head. "It's just as hard for me as it is for you to imagine someone hurting Sam; especially someone who's supposed to help protect him. It's hard to understand, accept, or believe. Throughout this whole thing I've been biting my tongue, holding my breath, and pushing down my anger. Within this last hour, ever since you first began your story, I've imagined breaking John's neck in about thirteen different ways. Right now, I hate him just about as much as you. But not nearly as much as Sam must. Have you talked to him about this?" Bobby asks.

Dean nods a little. "Yeah, a couple of times. But never anything into real detail. He's given me the outline, basically. But I can understand why. It's not exactly easy telling everybody about someone molesting you, you know?"

Bobby raises an eyebrow, "I guess….Dean?"

Dean looks up at Bobby. He notices the difference in his facial expression and wondered what was coming next.

"What?" Dean asked.

Bobby shifts uneasily on his feet. "It's just Sam, right?"

Dean scrunches his eyebrows together, not exactly sure what Bobby's getting at.

"What do you mean?"

Bobby sighs. "I mean, your father never touched you, right?"

Dean's eyes go wide. "No, no, no, no, no," he replies, shaking his head. "There's no way I'd ever let him get that close. I'd break his arm before he'd try anything."

Bobby tilts his head to the left a little. "You sure? He's never made you do anything? He's never mad you touch Sam? Anything?"

Dean's expression goes from shocked to furious. "How could you even ask me that? You know there's no way in hell I could hurt Sam. And if I would've known about this earlier, none of this would've happened," Dean says.

Bobby rubs the side of his head. "None of this is your fault, Dean. Don't even begin to blame yourself, do you understand me?"

Reluctantly, Dean nodded.

Bobby smiled. "Good."

He looked down at his watch. 12:02 p.m, it read.

His eyes bulge. Wow, time flew.

"It's getting late," Bobby announces.

"What time is it?" Dean asked.

"A little after eleven," Bobby says.

Dean smiles. "Psh, it's not late. Three in the morning is late. This is practically daytime to me."

Bobby raises an eyes brow. "Well it's been a long day for you. So a little past eleven is late. C'mon, how 'bout we go find a close Motel for us to crash in for a couple of days while we sort this thing out?"

Dean yawned. He didn't want to admit it, but Bobby was right. Just the thought of a bed mad is eyes water and his body long for it. He was tired. Too tired to think straight. Even though he wanted to sleep, something inside wanted his to stay. Sometimes Dean loves running on empty. It showed him that he was really working hard. To him that was a sign of a good day's work. But he hadn't got a good night's sleep in about a week and it was really beginning to catch up with him .

"Sure, Bobby. We can go. But can we go see Sam before we leave? I wanna make sure he's alright," Dean says, already walking back toward his room.

Bobby laughed a little.

"Sure, kid."

* * *

The doctors and the two police officers left about three minutes after Deana and Bobby. It was kind of weird, but that didn't really matter. The thing was, everyone had gone and it left John in the room with Sam.

"How you holding up, Sammy?" John asks.

Sam swallows hard.

He nods, not wanting to talk to him. He was afraid that he could hear the fear in is voice.

John eyes him for a little.

"You know, I think it's time we had a little talk, don't you think?" John asks a loud, even though he knew Sam wasn't going to answer.

John moved closer and Sam inched a little farther away, not sure what he was doing.

"You see, this whole thing is just a mix up, right?" John says.

Sam looks down at the bed, not bothering to even look up at John. He plays with his blankets. He tires hard to keep his tired eyes open. He's afraid of what he might see if he closes them.

"See, everybody's got this all wrong. Everybody thinks I'm the bad guy. But I'm not. You know that, right?" John cups the back of Sam's head. He plays with his hair for a little.

"I've never done anything to hurt you or Dean. You know that. So I need you to tell everyone that I'm innocent. You need to tell everyone that I've never done anything to hurt you. They'll only believe you, Sam. What you say is the only thing that matters."

John grips the back of Sam's hair hard, jerking his head back. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to make a sound. Trying not to give John the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

"Sam, I know you can hear me. Answer me," John demanded.

Sam kept his mouth shut.

"I never touched you," John lied. He pulled harder on Sam's hair. "I never hit you. I never did anything wrong!"

John let go, know that Sam got the point.

He leaned closer to Sam.

"I think you get the point. You're a smart boy, I know that. You know what I want you to do. You know what I want you to say. And if you don't…" John took hold of Sam's fractured arm and squeezed it.

Sam's head went back, holding back screams, tears, and yelling.

"If you tell anyone what I did to you, I'll kill you. Literally kill you, Sam. I'll kill Dean. I'll kill Bobby. You know I will," John threatens.

Soon, John let go.

"Understand?" John asks.

Sam didn't answer.

John smacked the side of his head.

"I asked you a question, Sam."

Sam nodded softly.

John gritted his teeth. He hated being played with.

He smacked Sam again.

"How many times do I have to tell you that you answer people with words? Now say it."

Sam bit his lip, scared. He didn't know what to do. Dean wasn't here. Bobby wasn't here. And all of the other people left the room. He had no choice.

"Sam…," John says.

Sam's swallows the knot in his throat. He wipes his eye before a tear falls.

"I won't tell anyone," Sam promises in a quivering voice.

* * *

By the time Bobby and Dean got to Sam's room everyone was gone. Sam sat there alone. His head was on the pillow, resting. Quickly, Dean walked over to him.

"How ya doing?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded.

"I'll live," Sam says with a faint smile.

Dean patted his shoulder.

"Alright." Dean looks back at Bobby whose standing in the doorway, waiting for Dean.

"Me and Bobby are gonna go, okay? It's getting late," Dena says.

Right there, Dean can sense Sam's mood change. He hated being alone.

"Don't worry," Dean says before Sam even has a chance to talk. "We'll be back before you know it."

Sam looks away for a little, then back at Dean.

"Can't you stay for a little?" Sam asks.

Dean shakes his head. "It's late, Sam. You're tired, I'm tired, Bobby's tired. We all need sleep."

Sam yawns. "I'm not tired," he says.

Dean smiles.

"Sure you're not, Princess."

Sam chuckles, yawning again.

Dean stands up straight. He pats Sam's shoulder gently. Then bends down and hugs him.

"Go to sleep, Sam. We'll be back bright and early, so quick you won't even have to worry one hair on that pretty little head of your's," Dean jokes.

Again, Sam smiles.

"'Kay," he says softly, closing his eyes.

Dean ruffles Sam's hair before walking away.

Bobby and Dean begin to walk.

"He's hiding something," Dean says.

Bobby gives him a questioning look.

"How can you tell?"

Dean shrugs. "I can always tell."

Bobby sighs. "Well do you know about what?"

Dean shakes his head. "Not exactly, but I got a feeling it's got something to do with my dad."

Bobby nods softly, then pats Dean on the back.

"Don't even let that bother you," Bobby says, pressing the button on the elevator.

Dean nods. "Yeah, because one way or another we're getting Sam to confess tomorrow."

Bobby agrees. "Yup, bright and early."

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed it. **

**Reviews make me happy. More happier than you know. Please review.**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N : 1. In the previous chapter I noticed that the time was all off. I was trying to calculate in my head how much time I wanted to have passed and I sort of got mixed up when I actually started to write it. Basically, what you need to know is that it's supposed to be after 11:00 pm, and Bobby wants to take Dean to a motel so they can sleep. Sorry about that, I know some people wrote me a couple of times asking me about that. **

**2. I'm sooooo sorry about the wait! Honestly, it wasn't my fault. My computer had pixels stuck in the screen that kept making it mess up. It was at Geek Squad for like two weeks. Sorry guys! But it's back and looking like new, so I'm ready to write again. **

**Don't hesitate to write me if you have question, a suggestion, or simply just want to talk. Anyway, enjoy the chapter… it's kind of long. Well, longer than usual, I think. **

* * *

Exactly seven hours and twelve minutes later Dean had woken up. Bobby told him to set his alarm to eight o'clock, but Dean couldn't sleep that long. It was a miracle that he had gotten any sleep at all. Once Bobby and he left the hospital they jumped into Bobby's car and took off down the road.

"I seen a sign for a motel earlier. Hope they still have vacancies," Bobby said gruffly. He rubbed his hand over his chain a couple of times before smacking it back down the steering wheel .

Dean sighed, pushing his head back into the seat. _It's gonna be a long night…_

Bobby nodded as if Dean had said something a loud. "It's going to be a long, long night."

It was kind of ironic that it was only a long night for Dean. Bobby had gotten a room easily and escorted Dean to it. Bobby threw his book bag onto the small seat next to the door and walked to the bed closest to it.

"Which bed do you want?" Bobby asked Dean even though he already claimed his by laying in it. With his feet, he kicked off his tight, worn out boots. Bobby sighed at the relief he felt. Dean scrunched his nose at the harshness he smelt.

"Jeez, Bobby," Dean says under his breath. He fans his nose for a second before turning away. "Go walking through a septic tank or something?"

Bobby chuckled on the other side of the room, apparently hearing Dean's quiet remark.

"Not lately, son. Not lately," Bobby joked back.

Dean smiled softly before taking off his own shoes, then his shirt. Glumly he sat on the edge of his bed staring at the floor. He ran his head through his hair. He winced a little when he felt a knot forming in the back of his head. He kept his hand there for a second, massaging it only to give up about a minute later. Rubbing it wasn't helping.

On the other side of the room Dean heard Bobby moving. He had climbed to the top of the bed, covered himself and rested his head.

"You know you should try to get some sleep. It'll only help you," Bobby says.

Dean shrugs. "Not gonna be able to."

"At least lay down…"

"Can't."

Bobby sits up. Dean doesn't turn around to see it, but he knows.

"I know this whole thing is on your mind. It's on mine, too. But you have to rest. Even if you don't sleep. Just rest your body. Lay down," Bobby says gently, trying to persuade the younger man.

"Bobby-"

"Don't 'Bobby' me," Bobby cuts in.

Dean sighs, deciding not to speak.

"C'mon now," the older man starts again. "Set the alarm for around eight. We'll be up and dressed by eight forty-five, and be at the hospital by nine."

Giving in, Dean stands. He sets the alarm by his bed for eight o'clock sharp, and crawls into bed.

"That's my boy," Bobby says, rolling over.

Minutes passed.

Silence.

Cars could be heard outside.

The heater in the back of the room buzzed a little. Humming.

"Bobby," Dean calls.

Silence broken.

Grunting, Bobby turns back over, facing Dean.

"Yeah?"

"Eight o'clock," Dean says, smirking a little.

Bobby nods. "Eight o'clock."

With that, Bobby turns back over.

Silence is back.

Humming of the radiator.

Cars passing outside.

Soft talking from next door.

Silence.

Dean's eyes were getting heavy. It was surprising actually. He predicted he'd stay awake till the wee hours of the morning. He predicted himself sitting up, not being able to sleep. He predicted frustration. He predicted anything but this. But it was good. He welcomed it. He encouraged the sleep that began to cloud his world.

Just as everything was going dark, just as the sleep was so close he could almost feel it-- it was ruined.

A bear. A roaring bear. Yelling, screaming at the top of his lungs. The sound was hard to pinpoint at first. Maybe a dying seal. Maybe a pregnant tiger giving birth…

Snoring. Loud, obnoxious snoring.

Bobby.

Dean let out an aggravated sigh, he gripped the pillow from under himself at covered his face with it, trying to drown out the sound. It was pointless. Bobby was still heard. And he was heard loud and clear.

Dean sat up, wiping what little sleep he almost had away from his face.

_Damn it._

He sat there with his head in his hands, rubbing his temples.

Dean thought back to just a few minutes ago when he was seconds away from sleep. But then he remembered even earlier when he predicted himself unable to sleep…

Dean sighed.

_Amazing how I can see the future, huh?_

* * *

"Knock, knock," Dean says aloud as he walks through the door of Sam's room. He gives Sam a quick smile before grabbing a chair and taking a seat next to him.

"How you doing?" Dean asked, feeling his forehead. Sam was hot to the touch, but there's no way that his doctors don't already know that. They're probably giving him something for his fever as they speak.

"You look beat," Sam says sleepily, not answering Dean's question.

"Touché," Dean responds, sitting back in his chair.

Sam looks over to Bobby who is filling out forms on the other side of the room.

"You sleep last night?" Sam asked.

Dean sighed.

Typical Sam. Always worried about everyone else. Always worried about Dean. The kid has swelling in his brain. Possible to slight brain damage. Three broken ribs. A fractured arm. Was in a car crash. Physically abused, and molested. And the thing he's worried about it how tired Dean looks.

Dean shakes his head in amazement .

"Sam," Dean says, taking his hand gently. "You have a big heart, I know that. But sooner or later you gotta stop worrying about me and start worrying about yourself, okay? I know it's hard for you, but just try to think about yourself a little more and me a little less. Alright?"

Sam looks away. Not really knowing what to say.

Dean cleared his throat.

_Alright then- moving on…_

"Sam," Dean says again. "We need to talk really quick."

Sam looks at him, letting Dean know that he has his attention.

"The police are gonna come talk to you soon and I wanna make sure you do the right thing. I wanna make sure that everything is done right, and the ones that deserve to be punished, get punished," Dean says firmly.

Sam looks away, pulling his hand out of the grip of Dean's.

"By people, you mean Dad," he says softly. His eyes blink slowly. He looks so tired.

Dean shrugs. "Yeah."

Bobby takes the chair he was sitting in and brings it over to the other side of Sam's bed.

"So what do you want me to say?" Sam asks, rubbing the tip of his nose.

Dean shakes his head. "I don't want you to _say _anything. I want you to _tell _the truth. All you have to do it tell the truth, Sammy. That's it."

Sam plays with the end of his blanket.

"But I told you already. Why do I have to say it again? Can't you tell them or something?" Sam complains.

Dean shrugs. He places his hand on Sam's shoulder and gives it a sympathetic squeeze. "I wish it was that easy, kid. But it's not. Nothing ever is. They wanna hear it from you and only you."

Sam sighs.

"I don't wanna get in trouble," Sam says softly.

"Why would you get in trouble, Sam. You didn't do anything," Dean contradicts.

Sam nods, almost unnoticeably. "It's my fault that Dad hits me. I make him mad."

Dean's head drops, he sighs. "No, Sam. None of this is your fault, and promise you're not in trouble. When they ask, just tell them what Dad does to you, then it's over. That's it. That's all you have to do."

Sam looks at him skeptically.

"You promise?" Sam asks, his voice a little shaky.

Dean smirks a little. "Would I ever lie to you?"

Shaking his head 'no', Sam looks away.

Seconds later, he looks back up. "Will you be here when they ask me?"

"Hell yeah. I won't allow it any other way," Dean says.

Sam swallows hard. "What about- what about Dad? He'll be there, too?"

Dean shrugs. "I don't know. But if he is you can't let that get to you. Just look at me and tell the truth. There's nothing more to it."

There was a knock on the door and Dr. Garcia's head popped in the room.

"Bobby?" he says.

Bobby stands.

"The officers will be here shortly to question Sam. I'll be back in about five minutes and we'll begin. I'll try to make sure it's short. I know Sam's tired," the doctor says briefly before walking away.

Dean sighs.

"You ready, little brother?" he asks. He gives Sam a reassuring smile, trying to get him to relax a little.

Sam lets out a deep breath. He was scared, but something about having Dean with him made it not so bad.

Sam looks up at Dean, trying to look confident for him.

"Ready."

* * *

Two different officers were in Sam's room. Dean, Bobby, Dr. Garcia, and John were all there, too. Dean was standing next to Sam, his arm around his shoulders. Bobby was sitting on the other side, watching everything inattentively . He seemed pretty out of it at the moment. Dr. Garcia was sitting in a chair next to Sam, but in front of Dean, clearly in Sam's view. John was standing at the foot of Sam's bed in between the two officers.

The taller officer held a tape recorder, the shorter one held a notepad. Questions could be seen scribbled on it.

"Can you state your full name for the record, please. Each of you," the taller officer says, pointing around the room.

"Samuel Winchester."

"Dean Winchester."

"Robert Singer."

"John Winchester."

The shorter officer; Officer Easton, continued.

"Samuel, please describe a typical day at home," he asks.

Sam swallowed. "Is it a weekday or a weekend?" he questions.

Dean smiles.

"Sam…," Bobby says.

Sam shrugs. "I'm serious. On weekends I see Dean. During the week I don't."

The two officers nods. "Weekday."

"Well, I wake up at six. I take a shower, and then Dad drives me to school. Um, I leave school around 2:30. Then I might go to the library or something for about an hour or two, then I go home. I do my homework, and go to sleep," Sam says simply.

"I couldn't help but notice that you didn't mention eating at all," Officer Easton says. "How often to do you eat at our house, Samuel."

Sam looks at them puzzlingly. "Everyday," he says.

"How's your relation ship with your brother?" Officer Easton asks.

Sam looks up at Dean.

"It's fine," Sam says.

"You guys get along?"

Sam nods.

"You enjoy hanging out with Dean? You guys do stuff together?" the officer asks.

Again, Sam nods. "Yeah, I like being with him."

The officer shifts on his feet.

"You guys argue?"

Sam shrugs. "Sometimes. But it's just brother stuff, you know? Nothing serious."

Officer Easton could be seen crossing something off on his notepad and writing something else.

"What about your father?" he asks.

"What?" Sam asks.

"Do you guys argue?"

Sam looks over at Dean, then down at the bed.

"Yeah," he answers softly.

"A lot?"

Sam nods. He bites his lip. "Yeah, we argue a lot."

Bobby takes Sam's hand and pats it.

"What do you guys argue about?" the officer asks.

Sam blinks. "It depends. I always make him mad."

"Well what do you do?"

"Sometimes I come home a couple minutes later than he told me. Sometimes I don't do my homework on time. Sometimes I make him wait too long in the morning when I'm getting dressed. Sometimes I don't know what I did," Sam informs everyone in the room.

The officers nod.

"What does your Dad for your punishment?"

Sam sighs.

"Just tell them, Sammy. I'm right here," Dean says encouragingly.

Sam takes in a calming breath.

"He'd hit me," Sam says softly.

"Then what?" The officer says.

Sam sniffles. "He'd keep hitting me. He'd hit me hard. I didn't know what to do. I fought back for as long as I could, but he's bigger than me. He's stronger then me. I could never fight him off for too long."

"Keep going, please. If you can," Officer Easton says.

Sam keeps his eyes down. Salty tears crawl down his face and fall onto the bed sheets.

"Sammy it's okay," Dean placed his hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed it a little. "Just tell them. It's okay, Sam. No one's going to be mad at you. Just tell the truth."

Sam nods a little.

"We'd fight for a while. One way or another we always end up in my room. He'd keep hitting me, but he would never hit my in my face," Sam discloses.

"Why's that?" the officer asks.

Sam shrugs. "He didn't want anyone to know. If he hits me in my face it'll leave a mark. He didn't want anyone to get suspicious."

"Suspicious about what?" he asks.

"Suspicious about my Dad hitting me."

The two officers exchange glances for a second.

"But he doesn't just hit you, does he Sam?"

Tears began flooding his eyes, soon everything was blurry.

Sam shook his head 'no'. His shoulders shook as he began to cry.

"What else did he do, Sam?"

Sam was quiet for a couple of seconds, trying to find his voice.

Dean grabbed his hand for comfort, letting him know that he's not alone.

"It's okay, Sammy. Just say it. It's okay," Dean coaches.

Sam sniffs and wipes his eyes.

"He'd kiss me-- he'd force me onto my bed. Sometimes he'd tie me to it, so I couldn't run away, and he'd touch me. I told him- _begged him_- to stop. But he didn't. He never did. But it was my fault. It was always my fault…," Sam's voice trailed off.

"Don't say that, Sam. It's not your fault, I told you that." Dean says.

Officer Easton shifts on his feet again.

"How is it your fault, Sam?" he asks.

Sam sniffles again, trying to hold back his tears.

"The first time my Dad touched me, I guess that was his fault. But I kept letting him do it, you know. After a while it was my choice. I could've told Dean the first time it happened. I could've lived with him. But I didn't. I just- kept coming back," Sam says, feeling disappointed in himself.

Dean lifts his head, looking up toward the ceiling, trying to keep his tears at bay. He never realized how guilty Sam felt. He honestly believed it was his fault.

"Sam, you have to know that none of this is your fault. You _never _had a choice. As soon as your father touched you or made you feel uncomfortable or ever put a finger on you, it was out of your control. Do you understand? You cannot blame yourself. No matter how you twist it, it's not your fault. None of it," Officer Easton says.

Sam nods, but not necessarily agreeing with that the officer is saying.

Without another word, the two officers took out their handcuffs. They grabbed both of John's hands and put them behind his back. Surprisingly John didn't object. He hadn't said one word throughout this whole thing. Maybe he knew he was getting arrested and knew there was anyway around it.

"John Winchester you are under arrest for child endangerment, physical abuse or a minor and molestation of a minor. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law…"

Dean couldn't help it. He let out a soft laughter before pulling Sam into a hug.

"You did it, Sammy. It's all over. I'm so proud of you," Dean whispered to him. Soon Bobby joined the hug, too.

Through their arms, Sam could see his father being taken out of the room. He looked back at Sam with a look that showed remorse. A look that showed regret, and maybe even showed fear.

The warmth of Dean's hug told Sam that he was right to tell the truth. But the look on his father's face made him wish he would've lied.

After all, John was still his father. No matter what…

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed this long chapter. My fingers are killing me! But it's the price I have to pay for awesome readers and reviewers like you guys. **

**Please review! Let me know what you think...**


	20. Chapter 20

**Over 10 reviews on my last chapter :) Thanks guys. Maybe this time it'll be come! Enjoy this chapter...**

* * *

"You know you did good, right Sam?" Bobby asks. It's been about an hour since John was taken into custody and it was obviously taking a tole on Sam. He was never much of a talker, but he was extremely quiet now. He seemed to only have one word answers for anything Bobby and Dean said to him. Something was up.

Sam nodded. Again, not answering.

Dean leaned forward.

"Sam, what's up with you? You're quiet," he asks, concern easily heard in his voice.

Sam shrugged. He blinked a few times before rubbing his temples.

"You alright?" Dean questions.

With his eyes squeezed shut and his hands rubbing the sides of his head, Sam nodded. Obviously, it was a lie.

"You sure?" Dean pressed on, trying to get him to talk.

Again, Sam nodded. His head moved up and down slowly. With each movement he scrunched his eyes together a little tighter.

Pain from the back of his head was waving toward the front. Soon, it surrounded his whole head. He tried to play it off for as long as he could, hoping it would pass, but it only got worse. He wish it hadn't, though. He didn't want Dean or Bobby to get worried about him. According to Sam, he had already caused enough problems. He didn't want anyone else to worry about him.

Dean stood and moved closer to Sam. He put his hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently.

"Sam? Sam, what's wrong?" he asked.

Sam shook his head.

"Nothing," he mumbled.

Dean sighed. "You're lying. What's wrong, Sam?"

Sam removed his hands away from his head slowly. He counted to three in his head before opening his eyes carefully and looking up at Dean. He tried not to squint, he tried not to look away even though he was suddenly sensitive to the light.

Sam shook his head. "My head's hurting a little. I'm okay."

Dean's head leaned to the side in disbelief.

"I'm okay, Dean. Seriously, I'm okay," Sam says in a not-so-convincing voice.

"Uh huh," Dean says skeptically, sitting back down. He eyed Sam for a little before turning to Bobby.

Dean cleared his throat. "I'm pretty sure I don't have to ask you this, but it's okay of me and Sam come stay with you for a little, right? Just until I find a place for us," Dean asks. For some reason he felt kind of nervous and silly asking this question. He wasn't expecting Bobby to say no, but some small part of him wasn't expecting him to say yes either.

Bobby smiled. "You guys can stay for as long as you need. You know you're more than welcome."

Dean smiles and sighs. "Thanks Bobby. You really help a lot. Especially when we really need it."

"Hey, don't sweat it, kid. That's what I'm here for," Bobby replies with a smile.

Nodding, Dean turns his attention back to Sam who looks as if he could fall asleep any second.

"Getting tired, buddy?" Dean asks, noticing Sam lax facial features and tired eyes wandering around the room.

Sam blinks hard once before trying to pull his attention to his brother. Honestly, he hadn't heard one word he or Bobby had said. He couldn't focus. Everything was beginning to be hard to hear. Everyone's voice seemed distant.

"Sammy," Dean snaps his fingers a couple to times. "You with me here?" he laughs a little at Sam zoning out.

Sam clears his throat and tries to smile but doesn't when he realizes that it takes too much energy to move.

"Yeah," he replies softly.

Shaking off his brother's weird behavior, Dean continues. "Well we're gonna live with Bobby for a little. Until I find us an apartment near him. Okay?"

Sam's eyes blink slowly as he gazed right past Dean.

"Sam you hear me?" Dean asks.

"Uh huh," Sam responds. His head presses farther on the pillow.

Dean stands and surveys Sam's temperature with his hand.

"Damn, Sam," Dean exclaims. "You're burning up."

Sam sighs.

"I'm fine, Dean. Don't worry…," he starts but his voice trails off.

Dean lifts Sam's head and reaches for the tissues on the stand next to his bed.

"Sam, you're bleeding," Dean announces, pressing the tissue under Sam's nose.

Sam sniffles.

Dean grips the back of Sam's head, keeping him steady.

"Bobby, go get a doctor or something!" Dean calls.

In a flash, Bobby is out of the door and calling for assistance.

Dean wipes Sam's blood-dripping nose.

"You're gonna be okay, Sam. You're gonna be okay," he says to deaf ears. At first he doesn't realize that Sam's eyes have closed and he was slumped onto Dean's shoulder. When he does finally come to that conclusion he does all he can to keep himself under control.

"Sam!" Dean yells, shaking his younger brother.

Sam's head bobbles with Dean's movement but he doesn't wake.

Seeing no point in continuing, Dean simply pulls Sam closer and continues to tent to his nose.

Seconds later, Dr. Garcia and two nurses enter the room with Bobby.

"Move back! Dean, make back!" Dr. Garcia commands, pushing past Dean.

Dean staggers to the corner of the room with Bobby.

"What happened?" the doctor asked without turning around.

Dean shrugged. "I-I don't know. He was really quiet. He wasn't really talking. I just thought he was tired, you know. But- but then he started like zoning out, not paying attention to what we were saying. I felt his forehead and he was really hot. His fever's really high. Then he started bleeding. And I looked away for a second, but when I looked back down at him he passed out or something," Dean stammers. He wasn't really focusing on what he was saying, all his focus was on Sam lying there.

Machines began to buzz loudly. So loud, it made Dean's heart jump.

"BP and HR is dropping. Call the room!" Dr. Garcia shouts.

"What-?" Dean says, feeling confused.

The nurse grabs a clear liquid bag out of the cabinet in the bottom drawer on the side of the room. She turns it right-side-up and then connects a wire to it. She screws a needle to the end of it and plugs it into Sam's arm.

Another machine let out a high pitched scream. Dean bit his lip as he tried to slow his heart down.

"Bring the mask! Bring the mask!" Dr. Garcia yelled.

Within seconds another nurse came in pushing a small, thin cart. She handed it over to Dr. Garcia who quickly pulled off the oxygen that was coming out of two small tubes and going into his nose and replaced it with the full oxygen mask that cover both his nose and his mouth.

"Jen, is a room clear upstairs?" Dr. Garcia asked the nurse that just recently entered the room.

She bites her lip. "Not sure. Karen was on her way up when I was bringing the mask."

Dr. Garcia grunts and shakes his head.

"Not good enough. We're taking him upstairs and I'm going now. Make sure we have two men already up there and all my tools ready! Go! Now!" he commands as he begins to unhook all of the monitors that were attached to Sam.

Dean takes a step forward but doesn't get very far. Bobby's got a firm grip across his chest, keeping him in place.

"Upstairs? What? Wait. What's happening?" Dean asks in a panic.

At first he doesn't get an answer. The two nurses wheel Sam out of the room and down the hall.

"Wait! Doc, Doc. Wait. What's happening? What's wrong with my brother?" Dean asks, his voice full of worry and shock.

Dr. Garcia sighs.

"I cannot say exactly what yet, but I can guarantee that it has something to do with the swelling around Sam's brain. Initially, we though that with a little rest and the correct medication it would go down in it's own. I'm sorry, but we must've been wrong," he explains.

Dean shakes his head.

"You were wrong? What the hell? What kind of doctor are you? You can't make assumptions! This is a person- my brother- you're talking about. He's not some Ginny pig that you're experimenting on! What the hell is your problem?" Dean scolded.

Bobby, pushing Dean behind him so he could speak, addressed the doctor.

"What's going to happen, Doctor? What will you do to help him?" Bobby asked as calmly as he could.

Again, Dr. Garcia sighs. "He's being prepped for emergency surgery right now. We'll have to drain the swelling ourselves. We'll be looking for any fractures caused by the amount of pressure that was on his brain. If there is any fractures, or any bone that looks out of place we'll be sure to align it back. Once we're done with that we'll do multiple brain scans to see the damage and to conclude the best way to nurse Sam back to health."

Bobby sighs. "Surgery? I know this sounds weird, but is it really necessary? I mean, Sam's been though a lot lately. Not just his mind in general, but his body. How much more of this can he really take?"

Dr. Garcia sighs. "I'm sorry but that's uncertain. You're correct. Sam's body has been through a lot. The human body can only take but so much stress, you know?"

Bobby nods. He looks down at the floor, almost debating his next question. "What are his chances, Doc. Something tells me it can't be good," Bobby says softly.

Shifting on his feet, Dr. Garcia looks over at Dean before looking back at Bobby. "Again, I'm not sure. I cannot give you an exact statistic for this kind of thing. This isn't like cancer when there's a percentage. I'm sorry but it's uncertain."

Bobby grunts. "Well what do you think?"

Dr. Garcia shakes his head and pats Bobby on the shoulder. "Just pray Mr. Singer. All you can do right now for Sam is pray."

* * *

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	21. Chapter 21

_Sam, on the mobile bed, was pushed past Bobby and Dean. With his hand outstretched, Dean tried to grab for Sam. Not to disrupt them, but to let Sam know that he was still here. To let Sam know that he'll be there when he woke up. Dr. Garcia swatted his hand away and adjusted the oxygen mask on Sam's face. _

"_Please don't touch him," the nurse scolded as she scooted her way between Dean and the side of Sam's bed. _

_Bobby wrapped his hand around Dean's torso. Right in the middle of his ribcage and pulled him back as gently but sternly as he could. With his other hand he took hold of Dean's wrist. Bobby took a few steps back until his back was on the wall. Keeping Dean in his grip, Bobby shushed him. _

"_He'll be alright, Dean. Just calm down," he had said a couple of times. _

_The swarm of doctors made their way out the room and zoomed down the hallway. _

"_Out of the way! Out of the way!" they all seemed to call in unison. Other nurses pushing elderly people in wheelchairs moved to either side of the hallway. Doctors walked behind them, asking of there was something they could help with. Patients and visitors were told to clear the way. _

_Soon, Bobby let go of Dean slowly. He patted his back. _

"_It'll be okay, Dean," Bobby swears. _

_Dean spins on his heel, with eyes beginning to water. But he didn't dare to let them fall. He was Dean Winchester and he refused to cry anymore. He had cried enough in the last couple of days that could last a lifetime. Enough was enough. _

"_How do you know?" Dena questioned, his voice cold and half-hearted. _

_Bobby rested his head on the wall behind him and shook his head with a shrug. He didn't know. Honestly, he was as scared as Dean; just as worried, too. But that was the only thing he could think saying. _

_Dean took a step back, throwing his hand through his shot chopped hair. _

"_What did we do wrong, Bobby?"_

_Bobby's eyes wandered around the hospital. By now everything looked like nothing had happened. Everyone was clam again and the doctors and nurses who took Sam were no longer in sight. "What do you mean?"_

_Biting his lower lip, Dean thought of the best way to explain it. "I mean we must've done something wrong- something bad- to deserve this. And to take it out on Sam? Yeah, we fucked up big time according to the big man upstairs." Dean used his index finger and pointed up the ceiling a couple of times. " I mean, why else would this be happening? What could be the reason that we get punished? Because according to my calculations," Dean pointed to Bobby, then to himself, " we did nothing wrong. We didn't hurt nobody- well except for Fran, but that bitch deserved it-"_

_Bobby put his hand up. "Dean," he cut in, "It was nothing we did. Everything happens for a reason, you know that."_

_Dean tugged at his shirt collar and cleared his throat, his attempt to keep his emotions under control. _

"_Well this why is this happening to us? Why is Sam being punished like this. And me-," again, his hand we through his hair. He shook his head. "I don't know how much more of this I can take."_

_Bobby puts his hand on his shoulder and smiles quickly. _

"_Just hang in there, kid. We'll all be okay," Bobby says. He gestures toward the waiting room down the hall. _

"_C'mon, lets go sit. The doctor will be back soon. He'll tell us how Sam's doing."_

_Both men walked like zombies toward the waiting area. _

_They sat._

_They sighed._

_They sat some more. _

_Within seconds Dean had had enough. "Bobby this is boring!" he complained and Bobby couldn't help but to laugh. _

"_It's been ten seconds, give them a chance to work," Bobby contradicted. _

_Dean slapped his knee. _

"_Ten seconds too long," he mumbled. _

_Bobby put his hand on his chest and pushed his back. _

"_Go to sleep," Bobby suggested with a shrug. He reached over and grabbed an _**In style **_magazine and began to flip through the pages. _

_Dean pointed to the pink magazine Bobby was flipping through. _

"_Really, Bobby? Really?" he asked with a smile. _

_Bobby looked at him, then to the book, then back at Dean. Not seeing anything wrong, he shrugged. _

"_What?" he asked with his eyebrow's raised slightly. _

_Dean grabbed the tip of the magazine. _

"_That," he says. _

_Bobby shrugs again. "This?"_

"_Yeah that."_

_Bobby smiles. _

"_Who reads _**In Style**_?" Dean questions," C'mon Bobby, be a man for once in your life. Read _**Sports Illustrated**_. You're making me look bad." Dean slaps Bobby's shoulder and chuckles a little. _

"_How do I make you look bad?"_

_Dean sits back. "Because I have to be seen with you."_

_Bobby laughs. He hits Dean with the magazine playfully. "Men read this stuff, too."_

_Sitting up again, Dean smiles. "Oh yeah, and who told you that?"_

_With a growing laugh, Bobby raises the magazine. " _**In-Style**_."_

_Gripping his stomach, Dean fell forward in laughter. When he finally came up for air his face was completely red. He gasped a few times before getting himself together. "Oh, Bobby. That's funny," he exclaims, wiping fake tears for him eyes. _

_Bobby flips the book back open. "It's nice to see I amuse you."_

_Calming, Dean sits back. "You're a riot," Dean snickers back, cracking a smile again. _

"_Good," Bobby says. "Now let me read in peace."_

_Dean makes himself more comfortable, but not too comfortable so that his mind wanders to Sam again. He was trying not to worry. _

"_You got it, chief," Dean replies before staring down the hall, impatiently waiting for Dr. Garcia to return. _

_-&&"&&-_

_It couldn't have been more then five minutes before Dr. Garcia came strolling down the hall. He had blood all over his midsection. Instantly, Dean's heart began to speed up. He had his mask on for a second, but he pulled it off in a seemingly frustrated manner. Before coming to Dean and Bobby he grabbed the clipboard off the Main Desk. _

"_Bobby. Dean," he says. His voice is soft and slow. His eyes show regret. _

_Dean stands first. _

"_How is he, Doc. He's okay?" Dean asks. _

_Instead of answering, Dr. Garcia thumbed through his notes and observations that were written down on the clipboard. _

"_We did all we could for him," he began. He looked through his notes again, like something new was going to appear from the first and second time he looked. His eyes look up and examine Dean and Bobby's eyes. Trying to distinguish the emotions hiding behind them ._

"_What?" Dean asks softly. Almost mumbling. "What does that mean. Bobby, what does that mean? 'They did all the could'?"_

_Bobby reached out and put his arm around Dean's shoulder. Frustrated and seemingly confused, Dean brushed his hand off. _

"_What does that mean?" Dean's voice is soft with hints of fear in it. His eyes were wide and he looked from the doctor to Bobby. _

_Dr. Garcia sighed. "I'm sorry. Sam didn't make it."_

_By then, Dean could hear Bobby sniffling. He didn't even have to look over to know he was crying. _

"_He didn't make it?" Dean repeated, almost as if he didn't know what that mean. He didn't want to believe it. Maybe it was because he didn't feel it. He didn't feel anything. Dean was completely numb. Cold. _

_Bobby put both hands on Dean's shoulders, before pulling him into a hug. Dean could hear Bobby's cries as he stroked the back of Dean's head. _

_Dean pulled back from the hug. He stared at Bobby, still refusing to believe what he heard. _

"_Dean," Bobby sobbed. He touched the side of Dean's face before continuing. "Sam's dead."_

_At that moment, that's when everything struck Dean. Everything hit him at once. And at that moment, that's when the tears began to come. _

_Dean had cried like he never cried before. _

* * *

Dean had waken up with a scare. He jumped out of his seat, small tears running down his face. He looked around and spotted Bobby, sitting a couple chairs down from him. He held his phone in his hand.

"You okay?" Bobby asked. He looked up at him for a second, then returned to his phone.

Dean felt his chest. His heat was beating fast. So fast he could hear it in his ears and the blood it pushed pumping through his veins.

Dean nodded. "Yeah," he breathes, "Just a freaky dream."

"Wanna talk about it?" Bobby asks, replacing his phone back in his pocket.

Dean shook his head. "No, I'm good," he replies.

He smiles. "I sound like Sammy," he says with a smile, but it soon fades when the memories of his dream and what happened earlier come back to him.

"Sam," he whispers, remembering.

Dean sits up. "How long I been out?"

Bobby shrugs. "Two hours?" he guessed. "Maybe three."

Dean's eyebrows raise. He shakes his head and sighs. "Wow, that long, huh?"

"That long," Bobby confirmed.

Standing, Dean moves up one seat, getting closer to Bobby.

"Funny," Dean says. "I didn't even know I was tired. I don't feel tired."

"You may not feel tired, but your brain is," Bobby explains. "All of this is a lot to handle. Sometime emotional stress can be more than physical stress."

Dean pats him on the shoulder. "Thanks, Dr. Singer," Dean says with a smiles.

"No problem."

Dean was about to say something when he heard his name being called. "Dean? Bobby?" Dr. Garcia called to them.

This time, there was no blood covering his midsection. There was blood on the white gloves he was wearing, but that was it. He held no clipboard, unlike Dean's dream.

"How is he, Doc? He's okay?" Dean asked, but instantly cursed at himself for asking in the same way he did in his dream.

Dr. Garcia looked from Dean to Bobby. "He's stable? Yes. Okay? Hm, not the word I would use to describe him just yet."

"But he's alive, though?" Dean asked, not catching the doctor's drift.

He smiles. "Yes, yes. He's alive."

Dean could feel himself let out a sigh of relief.

"So what exactly went wrong, I mean why is this happening? He was fine just a couple hours ago- well, not fine, but a lot better than this," Bobby asked.

"Well, in the most simplest terms, I'd have to put all blame on us. And I'm extremely sorry for the misfortune and the carelessness of my team, but I can assure you the problem is fixed," Dr. Garcia rambled.

"And what exactly was the problem?" Dean asks.

Dr. Garcia , sighed. " There was two hairline fractures on the side and the front of Sam's skull. Hence, the swelling in and around his brain, and the recent nose bleed. Somehow when we took the X-Ray of his skull we must've missed it, I'm sorry."

"But it's okay now, right? He's fine now? The swelling is gone and his brain his fine, right?" Bobby asks.

Dr. Garcia turns his head from side to side, as if weighing the question.

"He's fine for the time being. He should be good for the night, but the days to come are uncertain. But yes, we fixed the fractures and we had to open the back of his head and literally had to drain the liquid that was pushing on his brain. After that we patched him up, and took another- more thorough- brain scan and X-Ray. We studied his brain waves and are happy to say there is positive brain activity. As for his brain, we're not exactly sure if it's damaged until we wakes up at we see what he remembers and what he can tell us," he explains.

Dean shrugs. "You just said his brain was fine…"

"No, I said there was brain activity. That's the first thing we always look for after surgery in or around the brain, especially because he has the head injury and now the hairline fractures," Dr. Garcia corrected. " As for the swelling, it's not completely gone yet, but we feel it will decrease efficiently and successfully without problem."

Dean nodded. "Alright, that's good, right?"

Dr. Garcia nodded. "Yes that's good. It's what we wanted to happen in the first place."

Dean and Bobby both nodded. Even though Sam wasn't anywhere near okay, he was doing as well as can be expected.

Clearing his throat, Dean asked, "Can we see him?"

Dr. Garcia smiled. "Certainly, the nurses are just putting back in ICU. Go right ahead."

Bobby lays his hand on Dean's back and they begin to walk.

"Wait," Dean called, stopping. "Which room?"

"Same room as last time. If the door is closed, just knock before you go it, just in case the nurses are still getting him settled in," Dr. Garcia replied.

Dean nods. "He's not awake, is he?" he asks, even though somewhere in him, he already knew the answer.

"No," Dr. Garcia says, shaking his head. "But we're all anxiously awaiting his wakening."

Sighing, Dean looks down at the floor.

"Try not to feel sad. The other doctors and I suspect that there's a high possibility that he can hear what you're saying. He just can't answer you, not yet that is. So be careful what you say," Dr. Garcia explains with a smile.

"Got'cha," Dean says before he and Bobby head to see his brother.

_-&&"&&-_

Dean sat down next to his unconscious brother. Taking hold of his slightly chilled hand and rubbed it gently. Bobby went out to sign the paperwork and get some coffee for himself. That left Dean alone with Sam.

"Sammy," Dean says softly. " Since the doctor said you can hear me, you should know that we're pulling for you, buddy."

The sound of Sam's heart monitor was his only reply.

"I can understand why you don't wanna wake up," Dean says, his voice still soft. " I guess your dreams are better than reality, right now, huh? But you gotta know that I'm going to make things better for you. I'm going to make sure we're happy again.

"Living with Bobby should be good. He'll take care of us. He always has," Dean sighed.

Dean puts his other hand on top of Sam's.

"See all these plans I have? I'm actually thinking ahead. I never do that. Even though you always tell me I should," Dean says with a smile. "But I'm doing it and I have to say it feels good to have a plan for once."

Again, the sound of the machines hooked up to Sam was his only response.

"But you have to wake up, Sam. Nothing's the same without you nagging the hell out of me and being a pain in my ass."

Dean smiled.

"Life's gonna be better, I promise you that. I'll make sure everything's okay, but all you have to do is open your eyes so we know you're okay."

Dean sniffled a little, emotion getting to him.

"I just want us to be a family again, Sam. I want you to be happy. I want us to be happy again," Dean says, gripping Sam's hand and sighs.

"All you have to do is wake up, little brother. Then maybe we can get our life started, maybe it'll be better than before," Dean thought for a second, noticing the peaceful look upon Sam's face. Dean sighs. " But then again, it's all up to you."

* * *

**I'm not sure if it's appearent or not, but the story is coming to an end in a couple of chapters. Awww :( I was told a couple of times that maybe I should do a sequel to this, you know, to fill in any missing holes and of course some new drama and problems. I was thinking about it, and I had a couple of ideas that I liked, but it's up to you guys if you feel I should write a sequel. **

**Anyway, since this is the final chapters AND I'm so close to 200 reviews that I've xome to the decision that YOU MUST REVIEW! NO BUTS! =] PLEASE!**

**And, include what you think about a sequel...**

**Thank you !**


	22. Chapter 22

"Did he move?" Dean asked. He sat forward in his chair, studying Sam's still body. His green eyes examined the younger man, checking for even the slightest difference in his position. Dean bit the side of his lip. He looked back at Bobby who sat in a brown and white arm chair in the corner of Sam's room.

Bobby also leaned closer in his chair. He didn't want to get his hopes up just to be let down, but the truth is: he's just as restless and anxious as Dean is. Bobby tapped his foot impatiently, also staring at Sam. Not seeing any noticeable difference, he shrugs. "I don't know."

Dean stands up now and leans over Sam. He stares at his closed eyes, then his bruised cheek bone, then the cut on his upper lip. Then, his eyes travel upward to the white wrapping around his head. It went across his forehead; but under his bangs, and all the way around. The doctors had shaved a small patch off in the back of his head to perform the draining in his skull, but they told Dean and Bobby that the hair should grow back very quickly and shouldn't leave too much of a scar.

"Sam," Dean calls gently. He seen Sam's weak body take in oxygen then let it out slowly. Thinking quickly, Dean slipped his hand into Sam's before clearing his throat.

"If you can hear me, squeeze my hand, Sam," he says. Waiting patiently, Dean awaits the signal from his brother. Long, dragging seconds roll by with not even the slightest movement of Sam.

"Dean," Bobby says, "He'll wake up when he's ready. The doctor's told you that. His body needs to rest."

Dean's head bows for a second. "It's been two days, Bobby."

"I know that. Obviously two days isn't long enough," the older man says, sitting back in his chair again.

Shrugging, Dean turns back to Sam.

"You're just being stubborn, aren't you?" Dean says rhetorically. "C'mon, Sammy. Open your eyes, dude. I'm getting tired of sitting here watching you sleep."

There was silence in the room.

"Come on, Sam. Please?"

Again, silence.

Feeling frustrated, Dean digs his foot into the ground.

"Sam, open your eyes right now. That's an order," Dean says sternly.

At that moment, everything stood still.

Then Dean felt it. To most, it would seem like nothing. But to Dean it felt like everything. He felt a twitch. The slightest of a twitch in his hand that gave him hope.

He smiled brightly.

"That's it, Sam. Wake up. Come on," Dean encourages from Sam's bedside.

There was a choking sound, followed by a very almost unnoticeable movement of Sam's eyes. Most of this would look like nothing to everyone else. But Dean noticed it, Dean's seeing it all.

Then there was a strong grip on Dean's hand. The type of grip that made Dean look down at their hands for a second to make sure what he was feeling was real. And indeed it was.

Sam's chest caved a little before he jerked forward in a sudden coughing fit.

"Get a doctor, Bobby! Get someone!" Dean commanded instantly.

In a flash, Bobby was out the door.

Dean holds Sam's shoulders down, trying to keep him still.

Sam's body shook completely as his throat tried to reject the breathing tube that's going down it. His eyes stay shut, but they're squeezed tight together. A small tears strays from under his tight shut eyes as the plastic tube burns the sides of his throat. Sam opens his mouth to try to get air and Dean can see his teeth pressed down tight on the tube, fighting the pain.

"Just relax, Sam," Dean says, still trying to keep him still. "The doctors are coming. Relax."

Sam's fingernails claw into the back of Dean's hand. Holding back his urge to rip his hand off, Dean can't help but wonder where Bobby is with the doctor.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, Dean felt a strong hand pulling him back from Sam.

"Back up, son. Back up," Dr. Garcia says sternly. Without question, Dean backed up and watched the work.

"Sam," the doctor says, he places his hand on Sam's shoulder. "We're going to take the breathing tube out, okay? On three I need you to cough really hard, alright? Sam? Can you hear me?"

Sam nodded quickly, still trying to fight the tube.

"Alright," Dr. Garcia says to his team. "On three everybody."

Dr. Garcia takes hold of the top of the machine. The nurse on the other side turn it off, and instantly Sam stops coughing. Dr. Garcia nods to them before he starts to count.

"One…"

Sam's hands are on his chest, gripping at the bed sheet and the white shirt the doctors put him in.

"Two…"

Bobby and Dean waited anxiously a few feet away from Sam. Even though they knew he was going to be alright and taking out the breathing tube isn't anything tragic or earth shattering, but they couldn't help but to pray. They prayed that everything turns out okay.

"Three!'

The doctors pull as Sam coughs as hard as he could with that machine down his throat. The clear tube comes out of his mouth and Sam sinks into his pillow sucking in loads of air. His hand goes up to his neck and he rubs it momentarily. The shorter nurse take the breathing machine out of the room and soon disappears in the crowd making their way through the hallway.

Dr. Garcia stays, tending to Sam.

He puts his hand on his shoulder, trying to get his attention.

"Sam," he says. Weakly, Sam's eyes open and he looks over at the doctor.

"How are you feeling, son? You breathing okay?" he asks.

Sam nods uncertainly. He looks over at Dean and grins a little, letting him know that he's okay.

"You remember everything?" Dr. Garcia asks.

Sam looks at him with a questioning look, not really understanding why he would even ask that.

Sam nods, then shrugs.

"You have to say something, Sam," the doctor says.

Sam looks at him blankly, then stares down at his bed sheet.

"Do you know where you are?' Dr. Garcia asks.

"Hospital," Sam answers hoarsely.

The doctor points behind him to Dean and Bobby. "You know who they are, right?"

Sam's gaze goes over to them. He nods.

Feeling satisfied for now, Dr. Garcia turns around.

"Can I speak to you both for a second?" he asks Dean and Bobby.

"Of course," Bobby says, walking to the corner of the room with the doctor and Dean.

Dr. Garcia looks over at Sam who seems to be more interested in the bandage on his head than the conversation he was having with Dean and Bobby. He smiles as Sam rubs his hand across it a few times cautiously like he was afraid it would jump off his head.

"He's okay, right?" Dean asks, taking a peek at Sam, gazing over Dr. Garcia's shoulder.

He shrugs. "Not completely sure yet. He's only been awake for a few minutes. But he's seem very, very calm for someone who's been through what he's been through.'

Dean looks at the doctor with a confused stare. "Is that good or bad?'

The doctor sighs with a shrug and a quick raise of his eyebrows.

" Technically, it's good for his body; because of the fact that he's calm, there isn't a big, overpowering amount of emotional stress on him and that'll give him body a chance to recover. But mentally, it may only make matters worse. If he's calm like this, considering the car crash, the kidnap, the trauma of being with those people, the abuse of your father and then the fact that he just came out of surgery a few days ago, his initial reaction should be panicked or worried," Dr. Garcia looks back at Sam again. "But he's not. He's unusually calm, especially for a kid his age. Any other sixteen year old would be scared out of his mind. I have to be honest, I'm a little worried."

Dean shrugs. "So you'd rather see min freak out? Panic attack, maybe? Or do you prefer to see him hysteric?" Dean questioned sarcastically.

Dr. Garcia waked his hand. "No, no. I don't want him to freak out, but it's natural for him to show more emotion than he is. It more natural for him to have questions, to be scared. But he's not. I mean look at him," Dean and Bobby look past the doctor and over to Sam. Now, his focus has changed from the bandage on his head to he sling on his arm. His fingers run over it a few times in awe. Then he traces the strap with his finger. "This behavior isn't correct. It only means that he's blocking out things, painful memories that he doesn't want to remember. He's trying to forget everything bad that has happened to him and he's doing it by trying to act like it never happened."

"But in a way isn't that better? I mean, if he thinks it never happened isn't that good. Honestly, I don't want him to remember. He's been having nightmares about our dad before all of this happened, and I know it's only going to get worse now that we've been captured by the freaks in the woods and because of the car accident, which technically wasn't an accident….," Dean sighs. "I just don't see what's wrong about him wanting to forget. I mean if it helps him and he won't get scared then I don't see the problem."

Dr. Garcia shakes his head. "The problem would be his subconscious. The nightmares that you talked about will only get worse. They'll be more vivid and seem more and more like reality. He'll become paranoid, more jumpy, and afraid of things that he shouldn't. But if he goes to the right theory for children who've been abused, and if he talks about it, understands it, and eventually gets to a place where he accepts it and moves on with his life, then everything will work out for the better. But right now, Sam isn't handling things like he should. It's only going to make things harder for him if he keeps up this behavior, I can assure you that."

" So what's wrong with him?" Dean asks.

"As I've said before. I'm not exactly sure yet. But when you talk to him don't be surprised or worried if he forgets things. Like if he repeats himself a couple of times, just bare with it. Or if he forgets a childhood memory, try not to sweat it. It's very common. He'll remember soon, it's just the fact that his brain, just like his body, it recovering so he may have memory lapses. But if he constantly forgets someone's name or his own name. Or maybe something he should know like his address, his girlfriend's name, or how to do something common like write or identify certain things, please let us know immediately."

Dean puts up his thumb. "Got'cha." he says. Dean begins to head off, walking toward Sam.

"One more thing," Dr. Garcia calls out. Dean turns around.

"How would you rate Sam on understanding things? I mean how would you say he comprehends what he hears?" the doctor asks.

Dean shrugs. "Fine, I guess. Why?"

"I need to know for a psychologist for Sam. I need to know how he handles things so we know how fast pace the meeting and sessions can be."

Now, Dean's more interested.

"I mean, Sam understands things fine, but that doesn't necessarily mean he knows what it means," Dean explains.

"Can you elaborate please?"

Dean looks over at Bobby and he nods, as if giving permission to continue.

"Like, if you're sitting next to Sam and you put your hand on his leg; he understands that you're touching him, but he won't make the connection that you're hitting on him. You know? Or like with my Dad. He used to tell Sam that it was his fault that our mother died and that it was his fault that he treated him the way he did. And even though Sam knew all of it wasn't true, he pretty much made himself believe it. Soon, he got it into his mind that what our Dad said was true and then he stared blaming himself."

Dr. Garcia nods. "So he's gullible?"

Dean shrugs. "He can be, yes. But he's smart though. He's really smart," Dean says, defending Sam.

"I didn't say he wasn't, Dean. I was just making an observation."

Dean's foot kicked at the floor, not answering the doctor.

"Do you think he'd prefer a fast paced session and psychologist or a slow paced one?"

Dean shook his head. "Listen, doc. I not sure if these 'sessions' or whatever are important. I mean, my brother's not crazy. And he don't need some freaky shrink trying to pick his brain and figure out why he thinks the way he does or acts the way he does."

Dr. Garcia took a step back. "I'm not sure why this is upsetting you, Dean."

Dean put his hands up. "You know what, forget it. Do what you want."

Frustrated, Dean walks away and over to Sam.

Dr. Garcia points at Dean over his shoulder. "Did I say something wrong?' he asks.

Bobby smiles. "No, it wasn't you. Dean's just sensitive when it comes to Sam."

The doctor smiles. "I see that. I guess it's a good thing though. At least they'll always have each other.'

Bobby smiles. "Yeah," he agrees.

They both turn and watch Dean and Sam smiling. Sam looks tired, but he obviously wants to talk to Dean because he's forcing himself to say up. Dean says something to him and playfully pushes his arm. Sam smiles softly, but he's happy.

"Seems like Sam's very fond of Dean," Dr. Garcia says aloud.

Bobby chuckles. "Sam's looked up to him since he could talk. When he was little he wanted to be just like Dean. He followed him around; did everything he did. Dean didn't like it so much at first, but he's got a good heart. I think he soon realized what he was doing and tried not to get too aggravated."

"Why was Dean aggravated?'

"Well Dean was still a kid, too. He's not that much older than Sam. But I think Dean always wanted Sam to be his own person. To find out who he is by himself. And I think Dean felt like he wasn't anything to look up to. Sometimes I think he feels he's not good enough, or he isn't being the best person he can be. Sometimes I think he feels he's letting Sam down somehow. I know that's how he feels now. Especially since he found out about John and what he did to Sam," Bobby says.

The doctor shakes his head. "That's a shame. It really is."

Bobby shakes his head agreeing. "If I would've known about John sooner, I'd be in jail too because I would've killed him."

"You really care about these boys, don't you?" Dr. Garcia asks. "What are they to you? Nephews?"

Bobby shakes his head, no. "John is- well was, a really good friend. I've known these kid since they were born. I love them like they were my own. I've always tried to look after the boys when John couldn't."

Dr. Garcia raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean, couldn't?"

Bobby shrugs. "Lets just say John wasn't always around. Dean did what he could for Sam. But he was young too. Maybe twelve or thirteen. He could only do but so much, you know. He was just a kid, doing what he father couldn't. Dean had to grow up in a hurry- they both had to. But Dean tried so hard to let Sam be a kid. I think he still wants him to be a kid," Bobby says with a slight smile.

"Why's that?" the doctor asks.

"So he didn't have to worry. So he didn't have to deal with life- to deal with reality. I think Dean knew if Sam started growing up he'd start asking questions. Questions that Dean didn't want to answer. He knew that if Sam started figuring out what was really happening, then he wouldn't be a kid anymore. He wouldn't have that innocentness to him that Dean loved so much. Hell, he admired it. Dean never had a chance to be a kid like the tried to let Sam have."

"Wow," Dr. Garcia says. "Do you think that's the reason Dean is skeptical about Sam seeing a psychologist and about the treatments? Because once it starts happening, Sam will have to start to face reality. Because if he doesn't do any of that, if Sam forgets it- blocks it all out- then he won't have to face it?"

Bobby nods again, looking over at Sam and Dean. Sam points to the cup on the table to the side of Dean. Dean reaches back, fixes the straw and hold it up to Sam's mouth, helping him drink it. He smiles as he sees them talking and he's touched by the relationship they have with each other.

"Honestly," Bobby says, "I think Dean would do just about anything to have Sam be a kid again. Even if it's just for a little while longer."

* * *

**I made it over 200! Yay! 206 to be exact. I think 14 of you reviewed or something. Thank you, thank you all. Hopefully more wil review this time ;] ( hint, hint ) lol**

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**P.S- Sorry this note is soooooo long lol**


	23. Chapter 23

_Beep…_

_Beep…_

_Beep…_

Each time the heart monitor sang Dean could feel his body relaxing more and more. Each time the heart monitor sang Dean knew Sam was okay. He knew Sam was alive. Sam had fallen asleep about two hours ago, but that's when Dean began to worry more. He isn't usually like this, though. Worried. Sure he's concerned. Sure he's protective. But worried? This was something new to him.

"The first twenty-four hours are going to be crucial," Dr. Garcia had explained. "You see, due to the fact of the concussion and the recent surgery, we need to keep a really close eye on Sam. But if tonight goes fairly well, we'll begin more treatments, maybe so stronger medication."

Dean had just stared at first, not really sure what to say. "Wait," he says, putting up one finger. "what exactly could go wrong? I mean, he was just awake. What's the problem?"

Dr. Garcia's eyes darted from Dean to Bobby. "There's always a possibility that he could slip back into a coma. That's very, very common. Especially among teens," he added.

Dean nodded. He was at a loss for words.

_God, it never ends. _Dean thinks to himself.

"I'm sorry," the doctor says to Dean. "I know this is really hard on you. I understand you're scared for your brother."

Dean shrugs. "I'm not scared," he declares. "I'm not." He looks at Bobby then to Dr. Garcia. "Sam's gonna be okay. I have nothing to worry about."

But that was two hours ago. A lot can happen in two hours.

Nurses came in every thirty minutes too check on Sam. The studied the numbers on the machines and wrote them down on the paper. Some nurses adjusted the blanket on him. Another put a new wrapping on his head. That's when Dean got to see the cut.

It was just above his hairline in the back of his head. It didn't look to bad. Not from here, anyway. The cut went for about three inches and was on a diagonal slant upward. All around it was red and sort of looked irritated. The nurse, Sarah, she said her name was, put a yellow looking ointment around the stitches. After that, she took a bright white bandage and placed it directly on the cut. At that moment he was expecting Sam to wake, surprised by the pain he felt, but he didn't. He stayed there, slumped over he shoulder, breathing slowly and calmly. Next, Sarah took a thin, wrapping and pulled it around his head a few times to ensure the bandage would say on. With that, she lay Sam back down gently, pulled his blankets back up, and placed the roll of wrapping back into the drawer by his bed. Before she left she flashed Dean a reassuring smile.

The next couple of hours when by relatively slow.

Watch Sam. Talk to Bobby. Watch Sam. Watch hot nurses in the hallway. Watch nurse check on Sam. Watch Sam. Eat. Talk to Bobby. Watch Sam. Hot nurse, again. Watch Sam. Nap. Eat. Watch Sam. Eat- again. Watch Sam.

After Dean was on his third slice of pizza Bobby had brought him he didn't know what to do with himself.

Just as he was dozing off himself, he heard a knock on the door. His head swooped to the right, alert. A small woman, couldn't me more than 5" was standing at the door. Her light brown hair was curled tightly and flowed down her back. She stood, half her body in Sam's room, the other half outside.

"Can I help you?" Dean asks, standing.

"You can if you're Dean Winchester," she says, tapping her manicured nails on the door frame.

"Yeah. I'm Dean," he says.

She claps her hands together. "Perfect."

Dean shrugs. "What's this about?"

"Someone by the name of John Winchester wants to speak with you. I'm not exactly sure. I was just told where to find you. I didn't ask questions."

Dean's jaw dropped.

"My dad? I though he was in jail or something. Why does he want to talk to me?"

The woman shrugs. "Not sure. But please, come with me."

She peeks over Dean's shoulder and spots Sam in the bed, sleeping.

"Oh," she says gently. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were with someone."

Without meaning to, Dean smiled a little. "No, it's alright. I mean- he'll be alright. This'll be quick, right?"

She takes a step back. "I'll tell them to make it as short as possible."

"Alright," Dean says. He holds up his hand momentarily. "One second, please," he says before he walks over to Sam.

Dean puts his hand on his shoulder and shakes it.

"Sammy," he calls, trying to wake him a gently as possible.

Soon, Sam's eyes flutter open like butterfly wings and Dean could see his pupils trying to adjust to the light.

"Sam," he starts, "I'll be right back, I promise. I need to go. Someone wants to talk to me really quick, okay?"

Sam studies him for a second. "Who?" he asks. He sounds disoriented. His voice is weak and slow.

Dean glances over at the woman who had turned her back respectively to them, as to not be thought of as eavesdropping.

"Dad," Dean says, almost regretfully.

"Why do you wanna talk to him?" Sam asks, confused.

Dean shrugs. "Not me, Sam. He wants to talk. I'm just gonna listen."

"Don't go. Things will get worse, Dean," Sam says.

Dean smiles. "Don't worry, okay. Just go back to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

Sam sighs. Not even a concussion was going to keep him from understanding that what Dean is about to do is stupid. But what can he do? He's pretty much bound this bed. He couldn't sop him.

"'Kay," Sam agrees, letting his eyes fall shut again.

Within seconds he falls back into dream filled unconsciousness.

-&&"&&-

"How is he even allowed to do this?" Dean asks, power walking with the woman.

She shrugs. "From what I hear, John lawyer-ed up, and is awaiting a trial. As of now, at this moment at least, he's kind of a free man. Not in jail yet, I mean."

Dean shakes his head angrily.

"Ridiculous," Dean mumbles.

Without saying a word, the woman leads Dean down a long hallway and around a sharp corner. Who knew hospitals had so many twists and turns?

The finally cam to a room that had 'Conference' written to the side of it in a plaque name plate.

She opens the door and John is sitting there with a older aged man who Dean assumed was his lawyer.

"I'll be right outside. Just let me know when you're ready to go and I'll take you back," she tells Dean with a smile. She closes the door gently and that leaves Dean in the room with his father and his lawyer.

Once she is gone, John speaks. "Dean," he breathes, "I'm so happy to see you."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Too bad I don't feel the same way," he mumbles.

Pretending not to hear him, John gestured to the lone chair across from his and his lawyer's. "Please. Sit, Dean."

Dean eyes his father, skeptical. Seeing no harm, he strolls over to the fold up chair, pulls it back a little far than needed, and sits. He folds his arms across his chest, puts his feet on the table and shoots his father a threatening look.

"What do you want, Dad?"

John clears his throat. "I just want to talk, son. I'm worried about you. Both of you. How's Sam doing?"

Dean stared at the floor, refusing to give his father the respect of looking at him. "He'd be a lot better if he never met you."

From the corner of his eye he can see John and his lawyer exchange glances.

"Well I just wanted you to know that I'm thinking about you and Sam," John tries to sympathize.

"I bet you've been doing a lot more than just _thinking _about Sam," Dean shoots back.

Over these past few days Dean's come to realize how much of a horrible person his father is. The sooner he goes to jail or at least out of their lives, the better.

"Dean, that's inappropriate," the older man says.

Dean gives him a questioning look. "And who the hell are you?"

The white haired man clears his throat. "My name's Jason Turner. I'll be representing your father in court." Jason points to Dean's feet on the table. "Please remove you're feet. That, too, is inappropriate."

Dean slams his feet on the ground and sits forward. Not because Jason told him to, because he could feel the anger boiling in him.

Dean points at John. "Do you even know why he needs you to represent him? Do you know what he did?" Dean asked rhetorically. He puts his hand up after a second of silence. He puts his hand up. "Pleas don't strain yourself thinking. I'll tell you," Dean says sarcastically.

"This bastard. This poor excuse for a father. This _monster_ raped my little brother, his son, but before that he had his own personal boxing match with him. Now I don't know about you mister, but if I were you I'd get myself a new client," Dean informs the man.

John slams his hand. "How man times do I have to tell you? I didn't rape him. I didn't rape anyone!"

Dean sits back. He laughs a little. He kept his tough face on through. Despite the fact that his heart was going a mile a minute..

"Then what would you prefer to call it, Dad? You want the proper name? Sexual abuse? Like that better? How 'bout molestation? That word suite you better?" Dean questions. He could see his Dad beginning to crack.

"That's enough, Dean," Jason says. Trying to stop this from going any further.

Dean takes in a deep breath, trying to get himself under control.

"We're here for an entirely different reason," Jason says.

Dean cocks his head to the side. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

John fixes himself on the chair before he speaks. "Since this whole trial mess is going to take a whole and I probably won't be home much, I thought it would be a good idea if I have you this."

John reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of bills. He slides it across the table and it falls into Dean's lap. Cautious not to seem too eager, Dean picks it up slowly and eyes it. He fingers through it quickly.

Three hundred…

Four hundred…

Five hundred…

Six…

Seven…

Seven-fifty…

Eight hundred. Eight hundred dollars.

Dean flips the wad back onto the table.

He shakes his head.

"You guys need to eat. And you can use the rest for whatever you want. Gas money. Clothes. Whatever you want. Maybe it'll help cover what our insurance doesn't. You know. Help you with some of Sam's medical bills. Buy his medication or something," John says.

Dean looks away, disgusted.

"There's more in my bank account if you need it."

"You can't buy us, Dad," Dean tells him matter-of-factly.

John looks at his lawyer then at Dean.

"Son, I'm not trying to buy you. I want to make sure you're well taken care of while this whole thing is being worked out. It's still my job to take care of you, you know."

Dean makes a sound of disgust. "Well I'm sorry we're such a burden to you."

John shakes his head.

"It's not like that, Dean. It's not like that at all. I just want to show you that no matter what I'll always take care of you and Sam. I need you to know that. I lave you two more than like itself."

Dean smirks, again amazed at his father's act.

"Yeah, you have a funny way of showing it, Dad."

John nods.

"I know. I know that. And I'm sorry. But don't worry. Once this whole mess is figured out, I'm going to take care of you. I'm going to take care of you both. No matter what. I don't want to lose you, Dean. You or your brother."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Well that's too bad, Dad, because we can't wait to lose you."

John sits back and a heartbroken look came over his face.

"As a matter of fact, you don't even have to take care of me. I'm an adult, Dad. I'm over eighteen. Sam on the other hand, he does need someone to take care of him. And I guess that somebody will be me. Just like it always has been. I took care of him more than you ever did anyway," Dean says.

Jason pulls his chair up a little.

"Actually, no. There's no way a court would believe that you can provide a safe, well adjusted, clean, and stable environment for Sam."

Dean laughs. "And why not? I've been doing it for years…"

"Not good enough," Jason says shaking his head. "Plus, with your behavior, your inability to keep your emotions under control, and your temper, the judge can easily see that you're in no position nor ready to take care of a sick sixteen year old."

Dean's eyes dart from his father back to Jason. "That bull and you know it."

Jason, too leans closer. "No. I'm right and you know it. You can't keep Sam. Not even on our best day." Jason looks to the floor and shrugs like he just weighed two options in his head. "Not on your own, that is."

Dean shrugs. "Fine. We were gonna live with Bobby anyway."

Jason shakes his head. "No, no my temperamental friend. You see, since your Dad is still your Dad, he still has say in what happens to your brother;and he made specifically clear that he didn't want Sam to step foot in that house of Bobby's. The police have to check it out though, to see if there's a reason why John doesn't want Sam to live there.

So they'll search Bobby's house, and if they find even the slightest thing out of place, they won't allow Sam to live there," Jason sees Dean swallow hard. "I see you ran out of resources, huh?"

Dean blinks. "So if Sam can't live with me, and if the police say that Sam can't live with Bobby, then who can he live with?'

Jason smiles bright. "If Bobby's house comes back as a no-go, then Sam will be linked up with social services, will receive an agent, and placed into foster care as soon as possible."

Dean could feel his mouth drop to the floor. The he felt the anger reaching as high as it would go before he would explode.

"Are you that fucking crazy!" he yells at his Dad. He flips his chair over, making it fall to the ground with a loud 'boom'.

"Are you that determined to have Sam to yourself that you'd rather give him up to social services then have me and Bobby take care of him? God, Dad, that's sad. That's really fucking sad. You know what? What till Bobby hears about this. Oh, he'll kill you. You know he will." Dean smirked a little when he got the mental image of Bobby punching his father in the face.

"Bobby'll fix this. He'll make sure we keep Sam one way or another," Dean promises what a evil glare in his eye.

Jason shakes his head.

"There's nothing Bobby can do about this. You aren't his children. He has absolutely no say in this," Jason says.

Dean nods. "Yeah, we'll see about that."

He turns and swing the door open. He slams it shut so hard the pictures on the wall shake and John jumps a little.

Dean power walks down the hallway; so mad he could almost see red in the corners of his vision. The woman jogged slightly behind him to keep up. She's saying something to him but Dean's so mad he can't hear anything.

Have you ever been so angry you cried? Not crying because you're emotionally hurt, but you just really feel like punching something or bashing in a car window. That feeling you have when your emotions are on overload and might explode any second unless you do something to relieve this feeling you're trying to keep inside. That's how Dean felt. He could cry any second. But he refused. He didn't have time to cry.

Dean turned the corner as Sam's words lingered in his head.

_Don't go. Things will get worse, Dean_, he had said before he felt back to sleep.

Sam was right, he shouldn't have came to see John. Maybe Dean should start listening to him more often.

* * *

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	24. Chapter 24

Two young women and one older man walked out of Sam's room. Each of them had clipboards in their hands, just like the doctors. But Dean could tell they aren't doctors. These people wore suites and had brief cases in their hands. The women wore high heel shoes and the man wore dress shoes. Way too dressed up to treat a bunch of sick people.

Hustling a little, Dean sort of jogged into Sam's room where he saw Sam safely in his bed, sleep. Dean scanned the room. Everything seemed normal. Everything seemed in it's okay; but Dean wouldn't let that slide. Something happened. Those people weren't here just to look at Sam. They wanted something.

At first, Dean though of flagging down those people, but they was well around the corner before the thought even crossed his mind. Shrugging off that chance, Dean entered the room slowly. Spy-like, almost. His green eyes darted off the walls like lasers, trying to see anything left by those people.

_Maybe if I open my eyes really big, I'll see something I'm missing, _Dean thought, but instantly laughed at himself for such a stupid, childish thought.

Then it dawned on him : Sam, duh.

He was here. He should know what happened.

Dean went over to his brother, shaking his shoulder.

"Sam," he calls.

Sam groans, obviously in a peaceful sleep.

Dean made a face, sort of mentally kicking himself for waking him up. This was probably nothing. They might not have even said anything and he's waking Sam up to ask him about it. But soon it was too late. Sam was awake. As awake as he going to be, that is. Sleep was written all over his face. His eyes still had a sort of glassy look to them, but it was much better than a few days ago.

"What'd Dad want?" Sam asks in a soft voice. Sam was never a loud talker, unless he was mad. But sometimes Dean felt like he had to strain to hear Sam. He understood that Sam was probably too tired or too weak to really focus on what he was talking about. But still, talking to Sam really does a number on Dean's ears.

Dean looked away. He could tell him the truth; but then he'd be mad and get all worked up. Then he'd worry. Or he could lie a little; but then when he found out the truth he'd be mad that Dean didn't tell him the truth in the first place. Then he'd worry. In his mind Dean weighed both sides in a matter of seconds.

Sam mad now or Sam mad later? Sam mad now or Sam mad later?

You see folks? This is what Dean would call a lose-lose situation. Either way Sam gets mad.

Sam mad now or Sam mad later?

In his head, Dean threw up his hands, picking one.

Sam mad later wins.

"Um, he just wanted to talk Sam…" Dean said, staling.

"'Bout what?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "You know, legal stuff. It'll put you to sleep if I tell you."

Sam smiled faintly. "Then, please. Tell me. Unless there's another reason you woke me up? Did you miss me, Dean?" Sam jokes.

Dean takes a seat. The same one he left about a half hour ago. When he sits he feels that it's still warm. Someone was sitting in it.

"Tons," Dean plays along, smiling. "I missed your smart ass remarks mostly. That and you're beautiful locks, Repunzel." Dean reaches out to touch the ends of Sam's bangs but Sam swats his hand away with a grin.

Sam cleared his throat. "But really," he starts again. "Why'd you wake me up?"

Dean shrugs.

"Dean-"

"Forget it, Sammy."

Sam scratched the side of his head. "Sam," he corrects. "But I wanna know. Hurry up, I'm tired."

Dean puts both his hands on both arm rests simultaneously. "I was just wondering if someone came in here. You know, when I was gone."

Sam shrugged, but it went unnoticed since he was up to his neck in covers. The doctors and nurses have been trying for days to keep his temperature under control. So far it's been useless. They said his temperature his skyrocketed and then dropped to many times to count. On one of the machines read his current temperature. It's 100.7. Two of the nurses taught Dean and Bobby how to read most of the machines that are hooked up to Sam so they can keep an eye on him themselves.

"Well the doctors and Sarah," Sam says. Sarah's his nurse.

Dean poked the side of his mouth with his tongue. "I know that Sam. I mean someone else beside them. Someone you're not used to seeing?"

Sam pushed his head back into the pillow. "Well you asked. Damn, so you have to yell?" He brings his hand up to the center of his forehead and rubs circles. He bites his bottom lip a few times so hard it turns pale white momentarily.

Dean gives him a questioning look. "I wasn't yelling."

"Sounds like it," Sam says back. He takes his hand away from his head.

Shifting his feet a little, Dean gets ready to stand. "You want the nurse?"

Sam shakes his head. "No. I'm alright."

Dean looks at him skeptically.

"Promise," Sam emphasizes. "I'll be alright."

Reluctantly, Dean sits again.

"So, what-people? What?" Sam asks in broken sentences.

Nodding, Dean says, "Yeah. Like were two girls and a guy here just before I came in?"

Sam shrugs. "Don't remember."

"How can you not remember?" Dean asks. "It just happened."

Sam's silent. He's trying to recall what has happened but this headache isn't really making matters any better. He kind of remembers Dean leaving, saying he had to go talk to their Dad for a while. Then the next thing he knows, Bobby's waking him up saying that some people want to talk to him and that he'll be back later. Everything's kind of blurry after that….

But thinking about it now, he does remember voices.

"Uh, yeah. Wait," Sam thinks again. "Yeah. I think I know what you're talking about."

Dean sits forward. "Good. What'd they say?"

That's the hard part.

Sam didn't really remember.

He could remember bits and pieces of it.

"_No one's here with him? That's not parent like…"_

"_Doesn't he have a brother or something?"_

"…_then, maybe we should leave a note…"_

"_Ginger, where's the doctor…what about the nurse, then…"_

He remembered lots of footsteps. High heels or something. He hates that sound. Ever since he was little. For some reason, it always irritated him.

"_How many days…"_

"_What are his injuries…"_

Sam could remember hearing the door close.

"_Car accident…concussion…swelling…broken ribs…fractured arm…recent surgery…"_

"…_his father…"_

"_Sexual abuse…physical abuse…emotional abuse…"_

Sam still cringes when he hears that. _Sexual abuse._ Ugh, it's disgusting isn't it?

"…_horrible father…"_

"_How could he do that? He's just a kid…"_

The last thing that Sam heard still rung in the back of his head, and as he starts to think about it, it just gets louder and louder.

"…_Social Services…DYFS…Division of Youth and Family Services…"_

"…_be back later…"_

Sam looked around the room as the voices flashed in his head. He couldn't remember all of the conversation. He must've been half asleep or something? Maybe the nurses gave him more medication?

"I think Social Services were here," Sam admits.

Dean could literally feel his heart drop.

"You- you sure?"

Sam nodded. "Either that or the nurses were talking about Social Services. But why do they want me? I didn't do anything. Did I?"

Dean looked away. "No, Sammy. You didn't do anything."

Sam sniffed. "They why where they here?"

Dean sighed. He knew he was going to have to tell him. There was no way around it.

"Because…," Dean rubbed the side of his face. "they're thinking 'bout taking you."

Instantly, Dean could see fear all over Sam's face.

"Me? Why?"

Dean shrugged. "They don't think I can take care of you."

Sam licked his lips and let out a deep breath so fast it made his cheeks puff up for a second. He used to do that when he was little every time he was going to cry but their Dad told him not to. Dean could see it happening all over again. Sam was trying not to cry.

"Sam-"

"You don't want me anymore?" Sam asks in a whimpering voice. He was chewing on his bottom lip. His eyes shined with tears daring to fall any second.

Dean shook his head. "Of course I want you, Sam. Why would you even say that?" he says a little angrier than he could of.

Sam shrugs. "I don't know. I guess I've been bothering you lately…with me being here and everything that happened…"

"It's not your fault, Sam."

Sam looked away again. "It's not your's either."

Dean looks at the ground. Not believing that nothing is his fault. But for the sake of Sam he nodded. "I know." he says gently.

"Then why are the gonna take me? I thought we were staying with Bobby. You said-"

"I know what I said, Sam." Dean wiped his eye.

Sam let out a breath again. "They why-"

"I don't know. I really don't know. I wouldn't lie to you. You know that," Dean says back.

Sam nods.

By now Sam crying. Not loud or even that noticeable, but every once in a while you'll see a tear fall from his eye and stain the blue blanket that's covering him.

There's silence.

"I don't wanna go," Sam cries.

He sounds like his five, trying to get out of a doctor's appointment. He brushed the tear away from his eye and then gives Dean the most innocent look he could ever imagine. It broke his heart seeing Sam look at him that way. He knew that he wasn't trying to hurt him. But Dean's his big brother, and he's expecting him to fix everything. Just as he has time and time again.

Dean leans forward, putting his hand over Sam's shaking one.

"You're not going anywhere. You hear me?" Dean says. He, too, wipes a stray tear from his face.

Sam nods, too shaken to respond.

"Not while I'm around. They'll have to get past me and Bobby," he continues. Trying to comfort his younger brother.

Dean tightens his grip on Sam's hand, trying to steady it.

"No one's gonna take you from me. No one's gonna keep us apart," Dean promises as flashes of his life without Sam went before his eyes. He had to squeeze them shut to make the images go away.

You ever hear the expression : You never know what you got until it's gone?

Well Dean proves that expression wrong. He knows how lucky he is to have Sam, and he's gonna fight like hell to make sure he stays where he belongs.

Sam's not going anywhere. Not without Dean causing another Word War, that is.

* * *

**I actually got really sad writing this :(**

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**Please review. **

**Only about two or three more chapters left. Maybe less? Not sure yet. **


	25. Chapter 25

"Stop crying," Dean commands gently. Sam looks up at him with a tear drenched face. His eyes are red and his hands are shaking. He takes in a couple of calming deep breaths and then looks away. He's trying to obey Dean. He's trying to stop the tears from flowing but they just won't listen. He couldn't help it.

Everything that had happened to him has just suddenly flooded his memory and all he could see was the horrible things. With his good hand, he wiped his eyes and the looks over at Dean again who, too, wiped his face with the sleeve of his black jacket.

Dean cricks his necks and sniffs in dry hospital air.

"Sam, can I be honest with you?"

Slowly, Sam nods his head and turns his full attention to Dean.

"You know that things are gonna get messy, right?" Dean says.

Sam shrugs. "What do you mean?"

"Lots of cops. Probably court. Maybe different hospitals. Millions of questions. Enough talking to make your ears bleed. Enough tears to make a ocean. Confessions. The whole nine," Dean explains with his head down.

Sam studies the bed for a second, marinating on Dean's words.

He doesn't say anything.

"Don't try to worry. I'll keep things under control. I promise," Dean adds.

"Yeah.. I know you will, Dean," Sam replies softly, still staring down the bed sheets.

Dean sits back in his chair.

"I just wanna prepare you, Sammy. I wanna make sure your ready for all this crap."

Sam makes a face. A face that tells Dean that he's listening, but doesn't really want to talk right now. Either way, Dean continued.

"And I know you don't like talking about it, but you're going to have to what Dad did to you. Maybe about five or six times, depending how many times they need it on record, or in court," Dean eyed his younger brother. "You're going to have to tell them everything, Sam. You can't leave anything out. Okay?"

Sam's eyes roam the room, but he nods his head. "Yeah."

Dean gives Sam a questioning look. His face is full of hurt and thought. Dean knew it was only a matter of time until Sam actually though about what happened to them. It was only a matter of time before he actually had time to process it. It looks like this is the time. Dean just hoped that he'd at least try to wait until he recovered and was home. But since there's a chance that he might not come home with Dean and Bobby; now was as good as ever, then.

"Hey, Earth to Sam," Dean says, snapping his fingers.

Sam blinks hard, but continues to stare forward. After a second or two, he looks at Dean. His eyes soft and shining with newly forming tears. He sniffed and looked up at the sky to keep them at bay.

"What is it?" Dean asks, sitting forward.

Sam shrugs. "I don't know, Dean. It's just-"

Sam shakes his head and pushes down the sides of his lips, searching for the right word.

"What? Out with it, Sam," Dean replies shaking his head, also.

"I dunno," Sam repeats. "Just…why me? Why did Dad do that to me?"

Dean's eyes go big with Sam's question and he runs his hand though his shot chopped hair. He let out a breath .

"I'm not sure I can answer that for you. I just know it's something he shouldn't have done. It's something you shouldn't have to live through. And it's something that never should've happened at all. I'm sorry," Dean ends with his voice soft and full of regret.

Sam scratched the side of his neck.

"But why would someone even _want _to do that. Why would someone do that to their son?" Sam asks, looking at Dean with a look that expected him to know the answer.

Again, Dean shrugs. "Sam you can't look at it that way. The person that hurt you, the person that did those things to you wasn't our father. Sure, it was a side of him that should've never been exposed, but still. Dad wasn't always evil, you know that."

"But why?"

_Why the hell are we playing 20-Questions? _

"I don't know, man. There's something not right with him. Maybe he's a couple fries short of a Happy Meal or something. But you have to know he wasn't in his right mind when he abused you."

Sam cringed, looking away. He sniffed softly.

"You okay?" Dean asks, noticing Sam's mood change again.

"I just… never heard you say it before," Sam whispers.

Dean raised his hands a little, not sure what Sam was getting at. "What? Say what?"

Sam licks his dry lips, shaking his head.

He was silent, trying to find his voice. "Abused."

Dean bit his lip, not saying anything.

"Yeah, well," Dean answers the best way he can: by not really giving an answer at all.

-&&"&&-

"Where the hell you been?"

Bobby stops dead in his tracks in the doorframe, surprised by Dean's sudden outburst. Quickly, he looks over at Sam and sees him sleeping. Then, he looks back over at Dean and shrugs.

"Oh, I had a little run it with our friends the police," Bobby explains. He takes his hat off, rubs his hair, then puts it back on.

Dean stands. " Well what'd they say?"

Bobby shrugs. "Didn't say much. But they did a lot."

Rolling his eyes, Dean asks, "What does that mean?"

"They tore my car apart, looking for anything out of place, I guess. Then they told me they wanted to search my house but can't do that unless I go with them."

"You went home?" Dean asks, cocking an eyebrow.

Bobby nods. "Yeah for a little. Just long enough to watch them rip though my house."

Dean smiles. "Bobby, it looked like a pig sty before, it looks like a pig sty now. Forget it."

Bobby shakes his head in disagreement. He sits in the chair that Dean had gotten up from.

"One man's trash is another man's treasure," Bobby says like he's reciting it from a play.

Dean clears his throat.

"Yeah whatever. So what did they want- or find?" he asks. He looks over his shoulder at Sam, then back at Bobby.

Bobby smiles a little. "Hell if I know." he says with a shrug.

Arching his eyebrows momentarily, Dean sits on the foot of Sam's bed. Careful not to wake him, he gets comfortable.

"Well I got news," he announces.

"Good or bad?" Bobby questions.

Dean claps his hands together. "Bad. Real bad."

Bobby shrugs. "Well, out with it, then."

Dean lets out a breath. A breath that feels like he's been keeping it in for days. He can feel his lungs deflate with ease.

"I had a talk today."

Bobby pits out his hand. "With who?"

Dean smiles a fake smile. "Daddy," he informs in a sarcastic manor.

Bobby lets a surprised look wash over his face, but quickly wipes it off.

"What he say? What happened?"

Dean looks over at Sam. Even though he was sleeping soundly, he didn't want him to hear this. He didn't want to upset him if he happened to wake up while they were talking. He gestured to the door and began walking toward it, Bobby following close behind.

Once they were out of Sam's earshot, Dean began talking.

"They wanna take Sam," he blurts out, rubbing his eyes.

Bobby's stunned, shocked, surprised, and at a loss for words all at once. He shakes his head, trying to clear it.

"Wha-what? Who?" Bobby stammers.

Dean shrugs. "My dad…the police…social services…I don't know. But they don't want us to have him."

"What? Why? What happened?"

Dean twitched his nose and watched the nurse down the hall as he brought a large bottle of ice water into the room two doors down from Sam's.

"This lady came and said that someone wanted to talk to me. She said that she 'recommended' that I go with her. So I did. Well I didn't know what it was Dad and some dude," Dean explained.

"What dude? You know his name?"

Dean snapped his fingers, searching for the man's name in his mind.

"Uh…um, Ja- Jake-…Jason! Yeah, smart-ass Jason," Dean says.

Bobby raises his eyebrows. "Jason," he mumbles, and nods.

"Yeah, so we're talking and Dad's just lying through his teeth. You know, spewing a whole lot of bull crap. Saying hot much me missed me and Sam. Saying how he hopes that Sam's gonna be alright. Then he does something really stupid," Dean announces.

"What?"

Dean reaches into his pocket and pulls out a couple of hundred dollar bills. "He tried to bribe me…and Sam. Technically."

Bobby snatches the money from Dean. "And you took it?"

Dean smiles. "No, no…well, not really. I mean there was more. A lot more. But I only swiped a few hundred."

Bobby opens his mouth to argue.

"It's not like we can't use it, Bobby!"

"We can't, Dean!"

Snatching the money back, Dean asks, "Why not? I mean, we got Sam's bills to pay. His medicine, too. And food, of course. 'Member how the doc said that they wanna take Sam to therapy when he gets better? Well that costs money, Bobby! How else are we gonna pay for it?" Dean contradicts, beginning to put the money in his pocket.

Bobby grabs his wrists, and of course, takes the money back.

"But you can't accept a bribe, Dean. Especially not from the enemy.' Bobby shakes his head. "God, I thought you were smarter then that…."

Dean leans against the wall. "I am, Bobby. You know I am. But it was just like an impulse thing. When my Dad started talking about how much it's gonna cost to take care of Sammy, I started to think about all the money we don't have, you know? Then he just throws it at me, telling me to take it because he's still our Dad and still has to take care of us…I dunno. I just took a few. They didn't even see me take it. I swear."

Bobby runs his hand over the rip in his hat. "That's not the problem, Dean. If the police see that you took the money from your Dad they may think that you and Sam are still dependent on him. Especially if John tell them that you took it to pay bills for Sam. The judges always have a sweet spot for kids. Kids like Sam. They may give your Dad some leeway, maybe let him out early, because they'll think you and Sam still need him."

Dean shakes his head. "What? No, no they can't/ We don't need him Bobby. You know we don't need him. We never did."

Bobby nods. "I know that. But the judge might not."

Dean rolls his eyes. "But what about why he did to Sam? I mean you can't molest someone and just get away with it."

Bobby presses his lips together. "It's been done before, Dean. Plenty of times. Depends on how good his lawyer is, how good he makes his case, how much he can lie…stuff like that."

Dean slides down to the floor, unable to hold himself up anymore.

"Dad might get off 'cause of me?" he says softly.

Bobby shrugs. "'M sorry, Dean."

"It's my fault," Dean says, resting his hand on his forehead.

"Dean-"

"No, Bobby, it's true. Dad could not got to jail. And it's all my fault…"

* * *

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	26. Chapter 26

**Final Chapter.**

**Three days later…**

"Tomorrow?" Dean asks, plopping down in the chair in Sam's room.

The woman and the police officer nod they head in synchronization.

"Tomorrow."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Tomorrow?"

The woman smiles, writing something down on her paper. She shakes her head vigorously. "Tomorrow, Mr. Winchester," she answers with a smile.

Dean scratches his head and then looks over at Bobby who shrugs. "This soon? I mean, it's been like a week and a half."

The police officer leans against the doorframe and puts his hands in his pockets. He, too, shrugs. "Do you feel unready, Mr. Winchester? Are you nervous?"

Dean makes a face. "Me? I was born ready," he says sarcastically. "And can you call me Dean? Mr. Winchester makes me sound like a fifty five year old science teacher."

The woman chuckles. "Sure, Dean."

Bobby takes a couple of steps forward. "You ready for this, Dean?" he asks.

Dean shrugs. "Me? Yeah. Sam, though? I'm not sure he can handle it."

The woman, Donna, walks in a few steps to the spare chair in the corner. She takes a seat and crosses her legs.

"I'd like to explain something to you, id you don't mind," she announces.

Dean holds his hand out. "Please…"

She clears her throat. "Sam," she starts, pointing over to his sleeping form. " He's not going to testify in an open court. We will simply come to him. There will be a judge, a writer to keep everything said in the records, your father's lawyer, you're appointed lawyer which is I, and you, of course."

Dean nods. Bobby stands behind Dean. "What about me?" he asks. "I'll be there, too, right?"

Reluctantly, Donna shakes her head. "I'm sorry, but no. You aren't in kin with the Winchester family. Before you object," she calls when Bobby opens his mouth to say something. "I understand how close you are to both Dean and Sam. But there isn't a law that says that you can be in here when Sam's questioning is going on. You see, Dean and Sam are biological brothers. They're blood related which automatically gives Dean the right to be here. But not only that, Dean is twenty. An adult. He can file for guardian rights of Sam. You, too, can file for guardianship over Sam, but the judge may be more lenient toward Dean because he's Sam's brother."

Bobby nods, understanding where the woman is coming from.

"Understand?" she asks with a slight smile.

Again, Bobby nods. "Yeah, I understand," he rests a hand on Dean's shoulder. "So would you recommend that both of us file for guardianship for Sam?"

Donna nods. "I would think that's best. If the judge sees that both of you want Sam in your life, then they'll understand how heartbroken you'd become if Sam was taken away from you. You see, the court needs to understand that there are people that are there to get Sam through this hard time. They need to be able to clearly see that you're mentally and emotionally stable to take care of someone of his age and with his injuries. Especially with the case that is against you're father. The abuse that's been brought to their attention. They need to make sure that Sam won't have to live through that again."

Dean waves his hand. "Whoa, whoa, lady. What're you trying to say? You think at me and Bobby are abusive, too?"

Donna shakes her head. "Calm down. That's not what I'm trying to imply. What I'm trying to let you know is how tough they judge and jury are going to be. The simplest question they may ask you might be the ones to see how you'll be as a guardian. Now obviously you care about Sam a lot. Correct?"

"More than anything," Dean answers matter-of-factly.

Bobby smiles.

"Yes. That's great. But the judge and the jury don't know anything about you and Sam. They know the outline of what happened to you, but they don't know details. That's why they need you. They need to hear your side of the story, your father's side of the story, Bobby's side of the story, and of course Sam's side of the story. Then after hearing everything, exploring your personality, and seeing how well you answer questions, they'll make a decision to either leave Sam with you or enroll him in Social Services and find him a foster family."

Dean but his lip. "But if I'm filing for guardianship and Bobby's filing for guardianship, it doesn't matter who wins, right?"

Donna shook her head. "Well technically no. If you, Dean, get full guardianship of your brother then you'd have to provide a stable home for him, get a job, show proof that you actually have a job and have to fill out all the legal papers. Other than that, the only difference is if Sam ever needs something signed , say a permission slip or school file update papers, you'd have to be the one to fill them out and sign. Get it?" she asks.

Dean nods. "Yeah. But what about our house? I mean, can't we just go stay with Bobby?"

Dona shrugs. "If Bobby get's custody of Sam then of course he can stay there and you can stay there, too. But if you get custody of your brother, one of the requirements may be for you to find an apartment and have it approved my the state."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Yeah. Okay."

Donna closes her book, a little too loud because within seconds Sam stirs.

"Wha'happened?" he asked sleepily.

Dean looks over toward her.

"Uh, nothing, Sammy. Legal stuff."

Sam looks over at the woman and then at the police officer how still is stationed in the doorframe.

"'Bout me?" he asks.

Dean shrugs. "I kinda, not really." Dean answers with a smile.

Sam's eyes land on Donna who's smiling at him genuinely.

"How you holding up, Sam?" she asks.

Looking down at him bed, Sam shrugs a little. "I'll be okay."

She smiles. "Well that's great because I'd like to talk to you for a little. If that's okay with you and your brother?"

Dean shrugs. "You cool with that?" he asks Sam.

Sam nods. "Yeah sure."

Donna stands and walks over to the side of Sam's bed.

"I'm just here to inform you that you and your family have been scheduled for court tomorrow at one thirty in the afternoon. Your's though, well be at eleven forty five in the morning."

Sam's eyebrows scrunch together.

"Mine? What does that mean?"

Donna shifts on her feet. "Well due to your injuries and recent circumstances, we and the court have decided that it's best if we come to you. We'll ask you very simple questions, ask you to explain a few things to us. Now, I understand that you've already have a statement on record when the charges against your father were first bought to our attention, but we'll need you to tell us again."

Sam looks over at Dean, his eyes full of questions.

"Don't worry," Donna says. "Dean will be here with you the whole time. Right, Dean?"

He smiles. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Taking a step backwards, Donna speaks again. "You can ask Dean or Bobby whatever questions you may have. I've explained it all to them already."

Sam nods. "'Kay."

With that, Donna walks away.

Dean smiles quickly at Sam.

"Guess we're goin' to court, huh?"

-&&"&&-

**The next day…**

"Knock, knock,' Donna says as she walks into Sam's room. She smiles brightly at Sam and he shoots a weak one back at her.

"Hey, Donna."

She takes a seat in the chair again.

"You guys ready?" she asks.

"Yeah, sure," Bobby says, reading a magazine.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Dean answers, taking a look at Sam quickly.

Dean looks back again when he realizes that Sam hadn't answered.

"Sam?" Dean asks, waiting for Sam's response. "You okay?''

Sam sighs. " I just want it all to be over…" he responds in a low voice.

Dean stands, rubbing Sam's shoulder.

"It'll be over soon, Sam. I promise."

Sam nods.

Minutes passed and soon the judge, the writer and Jason entered the room.

'Good morning one and all," the Judge says with a smile.

The rest mumble greetings to the entering people.

Donna stands. "Bobby, I'm sorry, I'm going to have to ask you to leave for about twenty minutes."

Without argue, Bobby stands. He walks over to Dean and Sam and gives them both a hug.

"You're both going to be fine. Everything's going to be alright," he tells the brothers with a hopeful smile.

"Thanks Bobby."

As soon as Bobby leaves, the judge takes not time. She begins immediately.

"First, I would like to state the rules for everyone. Dean," she says, scanning him for a second. "I understand that you are here for legal reasons and I also understand that you are here for support for your brother, but I must stress the fact that you cannot help him answer a question. You may not tell him what to say or state something that might influence his answer or his prospective on whatever the question may be. Understood?"

Dean nods and looks the Judge straight in the eye. "Yes, I understand."

"Great. And Sam," she fixes her attention on him now. "please answer all the questions as clearly as possibly. I know some of them might be hard to answer, but trust me it's for your own good."

Sam nods and lets out a deep breath.

The judge looks over everyone quickly then takes out a small notepad.

"Alright, lets get started."

-&&"&&-

Ten minutes into the questioning and neither Sam or Dean were sweating bullets. So far the questions were easy, but none of them have been about their father yet. Maybe the lawyer is starting slow? Or maybe he's saving all the hard questions for Dean later today? Either way, Dean was pleased. He'd rather deal with the hard questions then make Sam have to.

"What do you think about living with your brother?" Donna asks.

Sam loosens his grip on the bed. He shrugs his shoulders.

"It's fine."

"Do you think Dean's capable of taking care of you?"

Sam nods. "Yeah. Of course."

"Even if your sick?"

Sam looks over at Dean who's sitting next to him in his bed. Dean's feet are on the floor and he watches everyone carefully.

"He's done it before."

Donna nods.

"What about your medicine, Sam?" Jason asks, coming into the conversation. "Do you think Dean will be able to handle all of your medication? Make sure you get them on time? The right amount?"

"Yeah," Sam answers briefly.

"Has Dean ever had to take care of you when you were sick before?" Donna asks, taking the attention off of Jason.

"Yeah he has. I had the flu once. And I think he told me he helped me when I had the chicken pox. But I don't really don't remember it. I was little."

"Chicken pox?" Donna asks. "Children usually get that when they're between the ages of 4 and 6. That couldn't have put Dean older then ten. Are you saying he was taking care of you at the very young age of ten?" Donna questions, a look of astonishment on her face.

Sam nods. "Probably younger than that."

The judge nods and from the corner of her eye she flashes Dean a quick smile.

A smile that says to Dean , _'You're quite the impressive older brother.'_

-&&"&&-

"Order! Order!" Judge Eva calls. "Lets get this started. This is the case of John Winchester vs. Dean Winchester and Robert Singer. Defendant, how do you plead?"

"Not guilty, Your Honor," Jason states a loud.

Judge Eva cocks an eyebrow. "Alright," she says, writing it down. "Mr. Jason Carmona . Who do you call to the stand?"

John had been up first. He's a world class screw up.

It was obvious that his lawyer was trying to give him the simplest questions, but he kept screwing them up pretty spectacularly. But when it was Donna's turn to question him? Oh, man. She really put him though the wringer.

"Do you believe that you were wrong for molesting your son?" she had asked while she was questioning.

How do you answer something like that?

Can you guess how John answered?

"I plead the 5th," he had said with his head down.

"Why would both of your son's accuse you of abusing Sam? They have no reason to lie," Donna had said somewhere toward the end of John's questioning.

John had shrugged. "Dean's got a control over Sam like no one else has. I bet he told Sam what to say."

That was John's answer.

Classic, huh?

Within the next five minutes, his questioning was over. Thank God. No one had to see this train wreck anymore. But now it was Dean's turn…

John and Jason both turn their heads toward Bobby and Dean's table.

"I call Dean Winchester to the stand."

Dean looks over at Bobby, stands, straightens his suit jacket, and walks over to the Witness Stand.

"Please state your full name for the record," Jason says.

"Dean Winchester."

"Alright. I'm just going to jump right into this. Are you aware of the allegations made against your father?' Jason asks.

Dean nods. "Yes."

"Do you believe these allegations to be true?"

"Completely," Dean answers. He couldn't help it, his eyes dart over to his father for a split second.

"And what makes you believe them?"

Dean runs his hand up and down his arm. "My brother told me."

Jason smiles. "Children lie, Mr. Winchester. They lie quite often."

Dean shakes his head. "Sam's not lying."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I've see it," Dean answers without hesitation.

Jason puts his hands up. "Oh really? You've seen your father 'supposedly' abuse your brother?"

Dean shakes his head. "No-"

"Exactly!" Jason jumps in. "So now you're lying."

Trying to keep his anger under control, Dean shakes his head. "That's not what I meant."

"But that's what you said."

Dean rolls his eyes. "I mean I've seen the bruises. On Sam. They're all over."

Jason puts his pen in his mouth for a second. "Huh. So when you found about what your brother accused your Dad of, what did you do?"

Dean fixed himself in the chair. "I took Sam away so he didn't have to stay with our Dad anymore."

Jason smiles. "Did you hear the key word in that sentence?" Jason asks the jury. "He said he _took _his brother. _Took him_." He turns back to Dean. "So you kidnapped him?"

Dean's mouth dropped. "What? No. I-"

'Well that's what you said, Dean."

Dean lets out a deep breath really slowly, trying to keep calm. Seeing this as an opening, Jason continues.

"You getting a little angry there, Dean?"

Dean shrugs. "I'm good."

"Oh really? 'Cause I've heard about you. Anger problems."

Dean gave Jason a look.

"What makes you think you're going to be able to take care of your brother if you have an anger problem? Because you know what people do when that get mad, don't you, Dean? They hit things. A lot of times they hit people. So how can we assure that Sam's safe with you? You may hit him if he starts to aggravate you."

Dean shakes his head. "I'm not gonna hit him."

Jason pokes his lower lip out for a second. "So you're admitting that you _have _trouble controlling your anger, you're just not going to hit your brother?"

"No," Dean says back, a little louder that he should've. "You're twisting my words around! No, I don't have anger issues. No, I don't and won't hit my brother. Happy?"

Jason shakes his head.

"I'm just trying to make sure that what you're saying comes out clear to the jury and our lovely Judge over here."

Dean doesn't say anything.

" I understand that you and your father recently had a little conversation, huh?" Jason asks.

"He wanted to talk."

"Oh really? What about?"

Dean shrugged. "You know, asking how I was doing. He asked about Sam."

"And what did John say when you told him about Sam?"

Dean though for a second. "He said that he hopes he gets better and that everything turns out alright," Dean tells truthfully. "But he's lying though," he added.

"And how do you know he's lying?"

Dean clears his throat. "It's simple, actually. All of the bad things started happening to us after we ran away from him. And he says that he hopes everything would be alright? Everything would be fine if he would've never put his hands on my brother."

"Understood," Jason says. "No further questions."

Jason walks away and sits down next to John.

Donna stands. She gives Dean as smile as she does so. Her job is to make Dean look good. This shouldn't take long.

"Would you consider yourself a good brother, Dean?"

"I like to think so. Yes."

"Do you believe you're capable of taking care of your brother alone?" Donna asks.

Dean nods. "Been doing it for years."

"Could you please explain to the court what you mean by that?"

Again, Dean shifts in his chair. "Ever since I was little. Since I can remember, that is, I've been taking care of Sam. Whether it was feeding him when he was little, or helping him when he got the flu, or driving him to the hospital when he broke his arm when he was fourteen."

"And where was your father through all of this?"

Dean shrugged. "Not sure. I mean, he did what he could, but in the end it was just me and Sam."

Donna nods.

"Do you believe your dad is a good father to you and your brother?"

Dean shakes his head.

"I used to. When I was younger, that is. But I haven't thought that he was a good enough father in years."

"Why's that?"

Dean plays with the loose peace of wood on the edge of his chair.

"I don't know. It seems like he just stopped trying to take care of us. He stopped trying a long time ago."

Donna nodded again.

"You see?" she asks the court a loud. "Dean's more than capable of taking care of his brother. More than capable of providing a stable home for him. He's been doing it for years. Too many years if you ask me. Just think about this: Dean was the only one in his house that had the right presence of mind to take care of the youngest in the family when no one else would. When Dean was taking care of his brother, most kids his age were just discovering girls and dirt bikes. Why would it even be a consideration to take Sam away from Dean. He's done nothing but love and care for his brother. And the last time I checked that wasn't a crime.

Dean's a saint from my point of view. If I could get my son to take care of his little sister the way Dean's learned to take care of his little brother, I'd be the happiest mother a live. I think you have to see things from Dean prospective. All he's got left is a brother, and absentee father, and a very close family friend.

Can't you see why Dean's holding on to his brother for dear life? Wouldn't you? Why else would Dean and Sam want to testify against their father. Most children don't want their parents to go to jail. And on the rare occasions like this, where they actually do, you have to think ' how can a parent screw up so bad that their own children want to see them in jail?'

I think that most of you have heard the charges against Mr. John Winchester. For those who don't know, and for the record, John is accused of physical abuse and molestation of his sixteen year old son. Jason tried to point out earlier that children lie," Donna shakes her head.

"Sam's not a child though. He's a teenager. A very intelligent teenager at that. Why would he want to make this up? What would be his reason to lie about something so serious as physical and sexual abuse?" Donna looks each of the jury in the eye.

"Nothing," she answers for them.

She turns back toward Dean. "In five words or less can you please tell the jury what your brother means to you?"

Dean nods. "He means everything," he answers as bluntly and truthfully as he could.

Donna smiles at him.

"See? His little brother means _everything_ to him," again, she gives each of the jury and even the judge a stern look in the eye.

"Taking Sam away from Dean would be like stripping an Olympic gold mentalist from it's first place."

Donna walks over and lays a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Don't take away Dean's grand prize. What's the point of working hard if you don't get to keep the reward, right? Well, Sam's the greatest award Dean could ever get."

With that, she pats Dean's shoulder and heads back to the table.

"No further questions."

The Judge slams her gavel down.

"Witness may stop down. Court is in recess. We'll have came to a decision by then."

-&&"&&-

**An hour later…**

"Did I do okay?" Dean had asked when they were in the middle of recess.

Both Bobby and Donna smiled.

"You did wonderful, honey," Donna said.

Dean had smiled back, but he wasn't so sure.

He wasn't going to let his hopes get too high, if there's still a chance they they'll be knocked down.

"The case of John Winchester vs. Dean Winchester and Robert Singer will reconvene now. I repeat- The case of John Winchester vs. Dean Winchester and Robert Singer will reconvene!" a small woman called into the lobby where Dean, Donna, and Bobby sat.

Dean stood and let out a deep breath.

"Here we go…"

-&&"&&-

"This was a heartbreaking story. Really; it was,' Judge Eva had announced to the court. "But the jury and I have come to a decision."

Dean could feel his heart rate begin to race.

Boom-boom…boom-boom…boom-boom…

"Jason, Donna; I'd like to thank you for working your tails off on this case. But remember this isn't all over here. But we'll discuss that in private later."

Boom-boom…boom-boom…boom-boom…

"Robert, I commend you for sticking by Dean and Sam. In a way, you were kind of stuck in the middle. I understand that you have a case against John as well. The case of Guardianship over Sam? Yes, that case will probably be scheduled for some time next week."

Bobby nodded at her. He mouthed "Thank you."

By now, dean was literally dying with anticipation.

His palms were sweaty, his knees were weak, and his head was spinning.

Waiting sucks.

"It was a pretty unanimous decision when it came to this. John," she says while she shakes her head. "I hope you get some help. Really, you need it. I've stared at the picture of Sam that's stapled on his case file for about an hour, wondering how someone could do what you did to a child. And to your child, at that." She shakes her head.

"After saying that. Jury, how do you find the defendant?"

A man, no taller than Dean stood with an envelope in his hand. He opened it and read it.

"We, the jury, find the defendant, John Winchester guilty for multiple counts of molestation of a minor, child endangerment, child abandonment, child abuse, and lying under oath."

Dean felt as he literally jumped into Bobby's arms. He hugged the bigger man tight.

"You did great, Dean. I'm so proud of you," Bobby had whispered.

"As for your sentencing, Mr. Winchester, that will be decided in about a week. Until then you will be placed in a holding cell until further notice. Bailiff, please take him."

John was pulled away and out of the court room.

"As for you," she says pointing at Dean. "You've done a remarkable job here today and with your brother. I wish more twenty year olds were like you. You've done a great job raising your brother," she smiles. "But now you won't have to do it alone."

Dean smiled greatly. He looks over at Bobby then back at the judge.

"I make the papers up tonight to hand you legal guardianship of your brother. You deserve it."

Dean laughs. He couldn't help it. He was just too happy.

Again, he hugs Bobby.

"I assume it's fine that they boys stay with you at your house?" She asks Bobby. He nods immediately.

"No problem, Your Honor. No problem at all."

The judge bangs on her desk. "Court dismissed.'."

Dean hugs Bobby again, then hugs Donna. "Thank you so much for everything you've done. Thank you."

Donna smiles back at him. "No problem."

After hugging Donna, Dean walks up to the judge.

"Excuse me, I just want to say thank you so much for letting my brother stay with me. You have know idea what that means to me. Just- just thank you. I thank you with all my heart," Dean could feel a tear beginning to form in his eye and he doesn't bother to wipe it. If anything, he dared it to fall.

Judge Eva smiled. "It was a no-brainer. Sam deserves to be with you. You're the best person for the job."

Dean smile, tears flowing now.

"Thank you."

The Judge steps down and gives Dean a hug.

"Your welcome. Now stop talking," she gestures to the door. "Go to your brother. Go take care of him."

Dean smiles but doesn't say another word.

He jogs out of the court house and up the road to the hospital.

He must've looked like a fool with the hugest smile on his face and tears running down his face but he didn't care. His father was going to jail, but he didn't care. They're going to have to move in with Bobby. They're going to have millions of bills to pay, but he didn't care.

Dean had his little brother right where he belonged, and to him, that's all that mattered.

* * *

**The End.**

**Well folks, it's over. :(**

**Did you like it?**

**Well I really hope you did. **

**Writing that chapter took me forever. **

**SHOW YOUR SUPPORT FOR THE FINAL CHAPTER AND FOR THE ENTIRE STORY! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE REVIEW!**

**A/N- The sequel to this is called 'Stonewall' and it should be published no later than the day after tomorrow. I already have it typed, and my BETA already checked over it, I'm just putting the finishing touches on the first chapter. I hope you're excited for the sequel. All I have to say about it is that it's definitely a roller-coaster ride. Things will get crazy. Things will get out of control. This might go horribly wrong. **

**Haha...anyway, please review, and I'll see you in 'STONEWALL'**

**ILOVEYOU ALL ! **


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